


The Act

by atetheredmind



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-04-06 03:16:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 141,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4205898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atetheredmind/pseuds/atetheredmind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Victors are a new, up-and-coming band on a meteoric rise to stardom propelled by Katniss Everdeen's ethereal voice, Peeta Mellark's guitar-slinging charm, and the duo's undeniable chemistry on stage. Too bad they hate each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> (Disclaimer: I'm not a songwriter or even a poet, just a mere peddler of Everlark smut, so more than likely any song lyrics I use in this story will be from existing songs. I'll attribute any song at the end of the chapter.)

**Prologue**

“Thirsty?”

Katniss looks over her shoulder at the proffered bottle of water and smiles gratefully at the crew member, Thom, who holds it out to her.

“Thanks,” she says as she takes it from him, cracking the cap open so she can take a greedy gulp of the cool liquid. It does the trick, alleviating the dryness in her mouth and throat as her nerves continue to rage.

She always gets nervous before a show, no matter how many times she gets up to sing in front of a crowd.

Not Peeta, however. Peeta is always calm and steady. Nothing ever gets to him, not even when they play the larger venues, packed with 5,000 people or more.

She watches him from her spot offstage now, peering around the curtains as she downs another third of the water bottle. He props his guitar against his stool so he can adjust their microphones, lowering hers a few more inches. Some of the girls in the front, practically flattened against the stage to get as close to him as they can, call out to him, tittering and squealing when he acknowledges them with a wave and a wink. He drops down to his knees at the edge of the stage, taking one of the girls’ phones to hold it up and snap a selfie with the fans. He doesn’t even lose his cool when one of them wraps her arms around his neck in an unsolicited hug.

Katniss knows she owes a lot of this to him; maybe eventually she would have done just fine on her own, but she probably wouldn’t have landed gigs as big as this. She likely wouldn’t have signed with a big record company, and she certainly wouldn’t pull in the number of fangirls he does now.

Fangirls are what drive the music industry, she’s realized. And blue eyes, blond hair, a dimpled smile, and large, callused hands that can expertly strum an acoustic guitar are what drive the fangirls _wild_.

Gulping down the rest of the water, Katniss crushes the plastic bottle in her fist and tosses it into a nearby recycling bin. Then she squares her shoulders, tosses her hair back and strolls out onto the stage. She smiles at the smattering of applause that greets her even in the dim lighting on stage, meeting Peeta’s eyes as he struts back to his stool.

“Ready?” he murmurs, and she nods her head, making a point to adjust her microphone even though it’s already at the perfect height. He knows her too well.

Peeta hitches himself on the edge of his stool as she does the same and pops his feet up on the bottom rung so he can rest his guitar on his lap. Katniss licks her lips and waits, keeping her eyes focused on the stage floor so she can’t see the size of the crowd. It’s only going to make her anxiety worse.

The lights come up a moment later, illuminating the duo on stage in soft blues and reds, and she smiles again when the crowd starts clapping and cheering, louder this time. Then the first chords of Peeta’s guitar reverberate in the speakers, commanding deferential silence throughout the room.

Closing her eyes, Katniss takes a deep breath, lifts her head up and looks at the crowd.

Then she sings.

* * *

_“You strike a match, I light the flame_  
_I’d die for you_  
_Falling on my weak and willing_  
_Knees to the ground_  
_Hands to my chest, you showed me how  
_ _The rumbling in my heart goes pound for pound, oh…”_

The mic carries her melody out across the crowd, and she keeps her voice soft and husky. The nerves from before are long gone, lost to the music and the attentive reverence of the fans. She’s always felt at home behind a microphone, whether it’s in front of thousands or just her sister, Prim. It’s easy to forget herself once she starts singing.

Peeta’s voice joining hers for backing vocals on the chorus shakes her out of her self-reflection, and her eyes slide to her right to meet his. Which are watching her, always.

 _“My body, my bones_   
_You got me by the spine_   
_My body, my bones_   
_Head to my heart to my waist to my thighs...”_

His blue eyes are dark and hooded, boring into her soul, stripping her naked. If she weren’t so familiar with that look by now, she might’ve forgotten the words to the song. She doesn’t look away, almost daring him to do the same.

He doesn’t, his fingers picking the strings effortlessly, his voice rising and falling in sync with hers to finish out the song.

 _“I was helpless, helpless_   
_Singing in your choir_   
_Helpless_   
_Dancing till it bleeds_   
_Helpless_   
_Lay me on your fire_   
_Burn, burn, burn...”*_

She holds the last note long after the last strum of the guitar fades, and the crowd has already erupted in applause and wolf whistles before she’s even closed her mouth. She finally releases Peeta’s gaze, her lips pressing in a shy smile as she looks out over the crowd. She gives a small nod of acknowledgment and gratitude, but Peeta hops to his feet and reaches for her hand.

His palm is warm, slightly damp with sweat, but it’s steady and firm, and she lets him pull her out of her seat too. Then she finds herself tucked against his chest, his arms anchoring her in a tight hug. He presses his lips to her forehead, a lingering kiss right above her brow, and the crowd screams louder, just like she expects. Like she knows he intends. When she steps back, a strained smile still plastered in place, she meets his eyes one more time. An understanding passes between them.

But then they face the audience and bow. Katniss grabs her mic so she can speak into it. “Thank you, guys,” she says sincerely, and Peeta ducks down to speak into it too.

“Thank you so much,” he echoes, his mouth dangerously close to hers. “We’re The Victors. We’ll be up front signing autographs, so come keep us company!”

With a final wave, Katniss exits stage left, Peeta right on her heels. She grabs the water bottle in Thom’s outstretched hand before Peeta can, and she hears him sigh behind her even as he stops to chat with the crew members swarming to congratulate him and high five him. He gets along with everybody he meets. Katniss just moves off to the side to suck down the bottle of water and swipe at the sweat stippling her forehead.

Their booking agent, Effie Trinket, finds her immediately, tottering toward her in impossibly high heels. “Katniss! Great show, dear,” she singsongs, even as she types away on her phone. Her eyes never once leave the screen. “You should get out front to greet the fans and sign the merch ASAP. They paid big, big, big money to see you two!”

Actually, most of them paid big money to see the headliner of this show, The Peacekeepers. But Katniss doesn’t quibble this point, rolling her eyes instead.

“I know,” she mutters, wondering why Effie always insists on reminding her but never Peeta. But she knows why; Peeta’s always so good and reliable, he never has to be reminded of their obligations. Katniss rather just retreat to their hotel room and unwind in front of the TV after a show. But duty calls.

Glancing briefly at Peeta, Katniss sees he’s offering his help to the crew as they jump on stage to break down the set and get the equipment set up for The Peacekeepers, so she heads toward the front, weaving through the workers and stagehands scrambling around her. She slips through a door to find herself in the front near the merchandise tables and the bar. Spotting Rue, the girl manning The Victors’ table, she heads in that direction, rather invisible to the crowd until she takes her spot next to Rue.

“Hey, thanks for helping,” she tells her, raising her voice over the crowd. Rue flashes her a sweet, bashful smile before a few of the fans loitering around the front finally catch sight of Katniss and flock to the table.

“Katniss! Katniss!” They call out for her, hands outstretched with markers and posters and shirts.

She shakes a few of the empty hands, making sure to make eye contact when she smiles—just as Effie’s stressed to her a hundred times—thanking them for coming, asking for names as she scribbles her signature on the items shoved at her across the table. Poor Rue can barely keep up, taking money and doling out change as fast as she can while fans grab for shirts and copies of The Victors’ EP.

Suddenly, the cries get louder. Katniss knows why, before she even sees him. It’s not even that they start screaming out his name, per se; it’s just a palpable shift in the intensity of the crowd.

She feels hands slide across her shoulders from behind, a solid body pressing up against her back. And then his hot breath fans across her ear as he lowers his mouth to whisper to her. Chills crimp her spine reflexively as his lips move, and she can’t stifle the delicious, involuntary shudder, even when she hears his words.

“You were completely flat on the last song, sweetheart.”

A perfunctory smile flits across her lips, even as her teeth grind together. She glances quickly at their fans, who are watching them raptly, and she angles her head back so she can aim her smile at Peeta. It’s a sweet, cloying smile, but her eyes are tight at the corners. His blue eyes watch her attentively, anticipating her next move, and he smiles back at her. Challenging her.

Lifting her mouth to his ear, she deliberately grazes her lips across the shell as they form her response. “Maybe you should just concentrate on learning how to keep time,” she murmurs back, not even bothering to keep the bite out of her tone. No one can hear them. She feels his cheek twitch in an amused smirk, and he just squeezes her shoulders—a little too tightly—his fingers inadvertently blazing a light trail down her back as he drops his hands and steps forward to greet the fans.

The fans, who stare adoringly at them and sigh wistfully and whisper to each other, enraptured by the chemistry simmering between the two singers of The Victors. It’s part of what drives the rabid interest in their band—the “are they, aren’t they?” nature of their intense on-stage relationship. Though Katniss and Peeta play demure when asked directly, the media and the fans are convinced they’re carrying on a torrid love affair behind the scenes. On the advice of their manager, Haymitch Abernathy, and their record company District Thirteen, she and Peeta play into the speculations, with calculated looks and longing touches and questionably platonic kisses—on foreheads, on cheeks, on the backs of hands.

If they only knew how fake it all is.

If they only knew how much she hates Peeta Mellark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *"My Body My Bones" by Jim and Sam


	2. Chapter 1

“We really don’t have to do this,” Katniss pleads as Madge drags her into The Mine by her hand. It’s the go-to bar for watching local bands on a Friday night—the only go-to bar, really, in all of Panem County, which isn’t really known for its music scene. That fact is both a blessing and a curse for struggling musicians like Katniss; it means less competition but less opportunity. Way less opportunity.

Gale trails behind the two of them, like he’s ready to block Katniss’ escape route if she somehow manages to slip Madge’s grasp. An impossible feat because the girl has the talons of a damn hawk, apparently. Coral-tipped talons.

“Yes, we do. It’s my fault you’re losing your guitarist, so I owe you a new one,” her blonde-haired friend throws over her shoulder, directing their three-person train through the growing crowd of drunk bar patrons and music fans. They clog the outside porch and entrance, yapping among themselves or diligently thumbing through their phones while they wait for the band to start inside.

It’s just a small, local band, Ponce de Leon, comprised of two guitarists, a bassist and a drummer. One of the guitarists is Madge’s cousin, who Madge has specifically dragged them here to see. Madge is adamant he’ll be a good replacement for Gale, who for six years has been playing acoustic guitar with Katniss in their small, two-person band, The Hunters, since he was 18 and she was 16. Six years of singing covers in his parents’ garage with each other, scribbling original lyrics and music notes holed up in her bedroom, booking small sets at shithole bars and friends’ weddings and family reunions.

But now, in a couple weeks' time, Gale is moving across the country with Madge, who just landed her first real job as a marketing rep at some fancy firm after graduating college. Gale’s a mechanic, so he can find work anywhere. And Katniss knows he’s planning to propose to Madge soon, so it’s not surprising he decided to follow her.

She won’t admit it out loud, but Katniss is upset with Madge for taking her best friend away, not just her guitarist. It’s hard not to feel a little territorial and protective of their friendship; Gale was hers first, they had this music thing going on long before Madge entered the picture. Katniss sang, he played guitar. They wrote songs together. It’s what they do. _Did_. It might be petulant, but she really doesn’t want to play with anybody else.

“Why do you think your cousin’s even going to want to play in another band if he’s already got one?” she gripes out loud when they stop to flash their IDs and pay the $5 cover. Her cousin didn’t even think to put them on the list as his guests?

Madge shrugs as she waits for Katniss and Gale to get their hands stamped, blowing on the wet ink on her own hand. “He works part-time at a bakery. He’s always looking for new projects,” she says and gestures for them to continue following her.

Katniss scowls. She’s not a project. Her singing is important to her; it reminds her of her father, of the good times, of days long gone, days she can never get back. When her dad died in a car accident nearly a decade ago, she swore she would do something big with her singing, to honor him. She’s poured her heart into The Hunters, into making it that something big.

But as they settle into a table off to the side not far from the stage, she sighs inwardly. Because she’s just kidding herself at this point. She’s never going to do anything big with her singing. She should just go back to school, finish her associate’s degree, maybe transfer to a four-year college, even, get a bachelor’s and become a music teacher, like her mother always suggests. It would be a steady, reliable job, at least, and it would get her out of her shitty barista job that was only meant to be a temporary job to keep her afloat until her music picked up. Somehow she’s been working at the same coffee place for four years now.

Becoming a teacher, introducing music to kids, making them love it, the way her father did for her—that’s something, at least. Her father would like that.

“Wipe that sourpuss look off your face, Catnip,” Gale chides her good-naturedly, bumping her arm. He leans closer. “I’ve heard her cousin play before. He’s good. Not as good as me, but close.” She rolls her eyes, and he smiles. “What do you want to drink? I’m going to the bar.”

She asks for a Coors Light, and he disappears to the bar after he’s noted Madge’s request for a Coors Light as well. As they wait for Gale to return with the drinks, Katniss takes a moment to survey the crowd. It skews heavily female, no doubt thanks to the all-male lineup of Ponce de Leon. Whenever she and Gale would play a bar, their fan base was fairly evenly split along the gender line—then again, she and Gale never pulled in quite as many fans as are gathered here tonight.

She discards the thought when Gale reappears and hands over her bottle of beer. The crowd doesn’t matter. She’ll listen to the set, try to enjoy the music, but she’ll just tell Madge later that she’s not interested in finding another guitarist. The kind of rapport she has with Gale is really only something you can forge after years of work and friendship.

The lights dim faintly, and Katniss sips her beer right as the band members stroll out on stage and take a moment to arrange last-minute details. Her eyes immediately fixate on the only blond-haired man on stage, and she can see the obvious similarity to Madge with his waxen curls and pale skin, even before Madge leans over to point him out.

“That’s Peeta on the left.”

Peeta Mellark. Katniss just nods, rolling her lips together, but her eyebrows peak ever so slightly with interest. He’s attractive, more than she was expecting—what was she expecting? She’s not sure, but she can’t keep her eyes from visually tracing the curve of his brow, the slope of his nose, the cut of his jaw. She watches him as he ducks his head through the strap of his guitar, resting the hollowed body against his (firm, she can’t help but notice) abdomen then fiddling with the strings, tightening the tuners, adjusting the pick-up mic. The sleeves of his plaid shirt are rolled up to his elbows, and his forearms flex with his movements. She actually stops breathing for a second when he smiles at the crowd and speaks into his microphone. “Hi,” he greets, his lips dragging across the metal jacket with a whispered metallic echo, and a few of the girls hoot at him, a ripple of applause following. He just grins and turns around to assist the others with the final prep.

She catches herself staring at him long after he’s turned around, mesmerized by the span of his broad shoulders and a back that tapers into a narrow waist and an unfairly toned-looking ass, accentuated by black fitted jeans.

Where the hell has Madge been keeping this cousin of hers? Katniss’ throat feels tight suddenly, and she takes a deep pull of the bitter, watered-down liquid from her Coors bottle. Ponce de Leon takes a couple more minutes to set up, checking the amps and gesturing to the sound guy to adjust the levels. Peeta doesn’t speak again, and instead the main singer introduces them when they’re ready to play. Still, when they launch into their first song, Katniss can’t keep her eyes off Peeta. He plays beautifully, chiming in every now and then to provide backup vocals, and as he plays, his fingers picking the chords, his thumb strumming the strings, he has such an intense look of concentration on his face, one that hints at another world locked inside him.

She finds herself wanting to unlock it, to know everything about him, every thought that goes through his mind.

* * *

The set lasts about twenty minutes, and when it’s over, Katniss claps enthusiastically, though her approval is lost among the shrill yells and thunderous applause and even Madge’s sharp two-finger whistle. Ponce de Leon clears the stage, and the audience disperses, some leaving and the others lingering to drink and talk with friends.

Madge spins around in her seat to face Katniss, her perfectly shaped eyebrow arching. “So. What did you think?”

Katniss shrugs. “They were good,” she hedges, and Madge gives her a hard look.

“I mean Peeta specifically. What did you think?”

She hesitates, reticent to reveal the depths of her appreciation for Madge’s cousin. “He was pretty good. He seems like a...competent guitar player,” she offers, staring at a point over Madge’s head. Madge rolls her eyes with a sigh.

“Always effusive in your praise. Well, I’m going to stick around and say hey to him, if you decide you want to maybe talk business with him,” she says, sipping her beer. Katniss mirrors her friend’s action, but her foot jiggles nervously under the table while Madge and Gale trade remarks about the set. Though she’s not sure she’s interested in playing music with Peeta, she’s surprisingly keen on meeting him anyway.

After a few minutes, Madge’s eyes shift toward the stage and brighten. “He’s back. Come on,” she urges, slipping down from her stool and weaving her way through the crowd to reach her cousin, who stands in front of the stage, casually sipping from a beer bottle as he talks with some people. Katniss trails behind Gale as he follows his girlfriend through the crowd. Idiotically, she uses his tall frame as a shield, standing a ways off when Madge cuts through the small group around Peeta to greet him.

“Madge!” he smiles, hugging her. “I’m glad you came out.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” she replies, stepping back. The others Peeta was chatting with slink away to let them talk. “It was a wonderful show, as always.” Peeta ducks his head gratefully in acceptance of her compliment, and Madge gestures to Gale. “You remember Gale, right?”

“Yeah, hey, thanks for coming,” Peeta says, shaking Gale’s hand.

“Good to see you again, man,” Gale returns, gripping Peeta’s hand before releasing it. Katniss watches their exchange, absent-mindedly pressing the mouth of the cool glass bottle to her lips. They’re like night and day, the men before her. Coal dust dancing in rays of sunlight. Gale is taller, darker, his black hair slicked back into a short bun, his skin dusky and bearing the evidence of a mechanic’s life: tiny white scars and probably even a smudge of oil he overlooked. But Peeta’s stocky, broad, and his blond curls fall effortlessly across his forehead, his bright cerulean eyes and light skin a stark inverse of the other man standing in front of him. A photo negative.

Katniss wonders if she and Peeta would contrast just as well standing next to each other.

Her reverie is disrupted when she sees Madge point at her. “This is Katniss—I told you about her.”

Peeta’s eyebrows lift, the corners of his mouth curling up in a brief moment of intrigue before stretching into a friendly smile. Katniss is certain she didn’t just imagine that look flash across his face, and she finds herself mimicking his smile, like it’s some sort of infectious disease. Peeta takes a step closer and reaches his hand out, and Gale steps aside, leaving her completely vulnerable.

She wants to curse him, but she can’t tear her eyes away from Peeta.

“Hey, Katniss, it’s nice to finally meet you,” he says, and her hand fits into his automatically, like a magnet. She’s not even aware she’s reaching out to shake his hand until he’s already squeezing hers, their palms pressed together, his thick fingers wrapping around in a firm clasp.

“Likewise,” she replies, lowering her beer bottle from her mouth. Disappointment ripples through her when his hand releases hers, and she tucks it under her other arm, as if to recapture the missing warmth.

“You’re the singer, right?” he asks, and her eyes widen faintly as she glances at Madge and Gale.

“Oh. I’m _a_ singer, I guess,” she says, her shoulder lifting noncommittally. Peeta’s smile remains fixed in place, and he slips a hand into a front pocket on his jeans.

“I meant the one Madge’s been telling me about. You and Gale have a band together, right? The Hunters?”

Katniss is a little surprised he already seems to know this much about her. “Yeah, that’s us.”

He nods, swigging his beer before continuing, “I really like what you guys do. You have an amazing voice. Madge played some of your songs for me.” He licks his lips unconsciously, catching the errant beads of beer, and she feels a flush warm her stomach and her cheeks.

“Thank you,” she whispers and clears her throat to speak louder. “Your band was really good tonight.”

He just shrugs, a smile still teasing his lips, but Madge speaks up before he can speak again. “Hey, Gale and I are going to the bar, you two want anything?”

Peeta waves his still full beer at her, and Katniss just shakes her head. This is already her second, and even though the ABV is low, she’s afraid any more alcohol and she’ll end up saying something incredibly dumb in front of this attractive guy.

When Madge and Gale make their retreat—and Katniss has a sneaking suspicion they left her to talk to him on her own deliberately—Peeta moves closer to her. She feels the hairs on her arms stand up at his proximity. “So what do you think you’re going to do when Gale leaves?” he asks conversationally. “I mean, with the band.”

“I don’t know,” she answers honestly, dropping her gaze to pick at the corner of the paper label on her beer. “The band was never meant to last forever, I guess.”

“Well...if you want to keep singing, you shouldn’t let Gale’s leaving stop you. It would be a waste of your talent.” He shrugs, watching her, and she raises her eyes to his again. He waits for her gaze to meet his before adding, “If you don’t already have somebody in mind, I would be happy to play guitar for you.”

She blinks silently at him, turning his offer over in her head. It’s tempting, which surprises her. She was already ready to write him off before she walked in here tonight. “I don’t know…” she says uncertainly, and he smiles, lifting his hands up, palm-out.

“You can say no, you won’t offend me. But I like what you do. I like your voice. So I would be remiss if I didn’t ask.”

Her cheeks burn at his praise, and she tries to shake it off, like a compliment from a gorgeous man doesn’t rattle her so much. “You’re already in a band,” she reminds him.

Peeta shrugs. “I know I’m fairly new to town, but as far as I know there’s no limit on the number of bands you can be in,” he says wryly, then he smiles. “I like staying busy. I feel like I’m going to lose my mind if I’m not always doing something. So I like to find new opportunities. And between you and me, I consider myself a pretty good judge of worthwhile opportunities.”

Katniss presses the mouth of her bottle to her lips again, nipping absently at the glass with her front teeth as she considers him. Despite her earlier convictions about going back to school, she knows she doesn’t want to give up singing. She doesn’t want to give up making music. And despite just meeting Peeta, she knows she wants to spend more time with him, somehow. She lowers the bottle and licks her lips, determined. “Okay. Maybe we can try this.”

His face brightens, and he stands up straighter. “Awesome. I’ll learn your songs, we can jam together, and you can see if it’s going to work for you or not. Again, no hard feelings if you decide otherwise.”

She lets a small smile turn her lips up. “Okay. Sounds fair.”

“Just friend me on Facebook, link me to your songs—”

“Um, I don’t have Facebook,” she interjects, and he pulls an incredulous face.

“How do you interact with fans?” he asks with a laugh,  but it’s not mean, really. Still Katniss grimaces internally. _I don’t_ , she thinks sheepishly. She’s not even sure she and Gale really have fans. But Peeta just waves it off. “Okay, well, let’s exchange numbers, is that okay? You have a phone with texting capabilities, right?”

She scowls at him, but he just grins innocently. She can’t muster any actual offense at his playful ribbing. “Yes, I can text you,” she says, her stomach fluttering in excitement when he pulls out his phone and plugs in her contact number when she recites it for him. He shoots off a quick text to her, which vibrates in her back pocket.

“There, you have my number now too,” he says. “Just let me know where I can find your songs, and I’ll learn them. Then we can decide when to meet up.”

Sipping her beer, she swallows the increasingly lukewarm liquid and nods. “Do you need the sheet music? I wrote it out for every song.”

But he shakes his head, looking faintly sheepish. It’s the first time all night he’s looked less than confident. “I learn better by hearing and watching. I’ve never been very good at reading music,” he admits, and she smiles.

“Everyone learns differently,” she says. She thinks about it then adds, “Sometimes I have a hard time singing and playing the guitar at the same time. That’s...mostly why I just stick to singing.” It’s not a complete lie, anyway. She’s just not sure she wants to get into the real reason she finds it hard to pick up a guitar these days. She still barely knows Peeta.

His face brightens with another smile, and he nods his head. “Well, I hope that works in my favor then,” he says. She hides her smile behind her bottle because she feels like she’s smiling too much tonight, and she takes another sip of beer.

She thinks this might just work out in her favor, too.

* * *

Katniss’ stomach swoops when she hears the first knock on her front door, alerting her to Peeta’s arrival. It’s frustrating because she doesn’t understand why her body reacts so strongly to him. Still, she pauses on the other side of the door to collect herself, smooths down some stray hairs worked loose from her braid, then opens the door.

Peeta smiles pleasantly at her and holds up his guitar. “I’m here for my audition,” he says, and she grudgingly cracks a smile of her own, gesturing for him to come in.

“I thought this was just a jam session,” she says as she shuts the door behind him.

“My fate is in your hands, but no pressure or anything.” He turns to face her, still smiling. “So where do you want me?”

Her eyebrow quirks at the unintended implication of his words. Who asks that kind of question with a straight face? Katniss makes herself shrug. “Living room is fine. Would you like a beer or anything?” she asks to his back as he crosses to the couch. He spins around at her inquiry and nods.

“Definitely. Alcohol will help with the nerves.”

“Nerves?” she calls to him, padding into the kitchen and swinging the fridge open to rifle through her small stash of beer.

“Oh yeah. Performing for a pretty girl always makes me nervous.”

Bent over at the waist, Katniss freezes at his words. A flush creeps up her neck, and her pulse quickens. Shaking her head at herself, she snatches two bottles of Yuengling from the bottom shelf, glad he can’t see her expression.

He thinks she’s pretty.

Before marching back out into the living room, Katniss twists her mouth to loosen the small grin that’s crept across her face, and she presses her lips together to appear nonchalant. She hands him one of the bottles, and he smiles appreciatively, tugging a smile from her again, anyway.

“You’re just buttering me up,” she accuses half-heartedly, and he looks at her with wide, guileless eyes, twisting his cap off as she curls up in an armchair opposite him.

“What? Use flattery to get what I want? Never,” he says, and again his words elicit a smile from her. Annoyed with herself, she attempts to hide it by taking a swig of her beer she just cracked open. His words send her thoughts reeling, though.

Does he just want a spot in her band or...something more? Sitting across from him, she’s once again spellbound by the sight of him, by his presence. A few minutes more, and she’s likely to just offer him the gig without even hearing him play her music.

“Did you have any trouble with the songs?” she asks to steer the conversation back into safe territory before she can spiral any further.

He shakes his head and rests his guitar on his lap, setting his beer down on a side table. “Nah, didn’t take me too long to learn the music,” he says, adjusting the strings.

“Good.” She twists her braid around her finger anxiously. “Is there a particular song you want to start with?”

“How about ‘The Valley Song’?” he suggests, looking up at her expectantly, and she nods faintly. It’s the first song she ever wrote with her dad, before he died. When Peeta smiles at her, the opening notes resounding from his strings as he begins, she relaxes and finds herself returning his smile before she joins him in song. A deep breath expands and relaxes her diaphragm, and then,

_“Down in the valley, the valley so low_   
_Hang your head over, hear the wind blow—”*_

Katniss’ voice sticks in her throat when she catches the wide-eyed look Peeta’s suddenly giving her, and she clamps her mouth shut as his fingers idle on the strings. “What?” she asks, panicked. “Is something wrong?”

His shoulders tense before he gives himself a shake, clearing his throat. His cheeks have ruddied. “No! Sorry, uh—it’s just...shit. Your voice,” he says, his voice still sounding far away, lost. She grimaces.

“Do I sound bad or something?” she demands, touching her throat self-consciously. She's sure she didn’t sound flat, at least to her own ears.

A laugh escapes his throat on a breathy air. “No! Not at all. It’s just—I mean, I’ve heard you on the recordings. But you just sound different in person. _Better_. I feel like I’ve just been punched in the chest,” he says, rubbing at his sternum.

Her body feels warm, and her mouth creeps down into a frown. “That sounds like a bad thing.”

“I swear it’s not,” he laughs again, shaking his head. “Let’s just start over. I’m—prepared this time, I won’t stop again. I promise.”

Pulling her knees to her chest, she presses the cold, slick bottle between the arches of her feet. The shock to her sensory system eases the anxiety thrumming through her, and she keeps her eyes trained on the couch cushion beside Peeta. “Okay,” she says, taking another deep breath when he starts the song over.

When she begins singing again, he doesn’t stop this time, but she can still feel his stare on her through the entirety of the song. It feels like awe.

It makes her chug her beer much faster in between songs.

They go through The Hunters’ whole repertoire of songs, even repeating and tweaking a few of them until they both feel they’re right. Peeta’s voice is a different sound from Gale’s, smoother, more rounded and well-bodied and not as deep—if she’s being honest with herself, her and Peeta’s voices together actually sound better than hers and Gale’s.

She's on a high, like she always is after she's finished performing. “I’m impressed with how quickly you learned all these songs,” she tells him after and quickly adds, “Not that I didn’t think you’d be able to. You’re a really good guitar player. And singer.”

He smiles gratefully, propping his guitar against the couch. He takes a long, quenching sip of his beer before replying, “I downloaded them on my phone, so I could listen to them when I worked out or was working at the bakery. That helped.” Something about imagining him listening to her music, her singing, while he goes about his normal everyday routine makes her feel strange. In a decidedly pleasant way.

“So should I take that compliment as a maybe…?” Peeta asks leadingly.

“Oh. Yeah. This felt—good. Right.” She doesn’t know how else to describe it, but saying it out loud sounds silly. She cuts her eyes to him curiously. “How do you feel?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s your band, really. I’d just be filling in, but I would love to keep playing with you, if you’ll allow it.”

Giddy, she laughs at his phrasing. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll allow it.”

His face lights up. “Yeah? I know a guy at The Mine, I can have him book us a couple shows there, probably Wednesday and Thursday nights or something during the week. I’ll give him a call and let you know.”

She’s surprised—it seems to be happening so fast—but she agrees. “Okay.” She’s out of beer, having drained her last one two songs ago. Her throat is dry, and she watches Peeta finish off his second beer, too. Technically, their evening should be over, since they’ve done what they set out to do. But she doesn’t want him to leave just yet.

“How did you get involved with Ponce de Leon?” she asks and leans back in her armchair, folding her legs under her. Her toes tuck in between the cushions, and she wriggles them.

“I went to college with the drummer’s girlfriend. He grew up here. After I graduated, I wasn’t really sure what I wanted to do for a living,” Peeta says, tapping his empty bottle on his knee. “So she introduced us, and he set me up with a job at his uncle’s bakery helping in the back and asked if I wanted to join the band too, since I could play the guitar. It was just a bonus that I had a cousin in the same area. So here I am, though they already had a guitarist, so I’m not entirely sure what they need me for.” He chuckles ruefully, raking a hand through his hair.

Katniss can guess what added value he brings to the band, having witnessed the way the crowd responded to him on that stage. Especially when he smiles.

She glances at the bottle knocking hollowly against his knee and unfurls herself from the chair, climbing to her feet. “When you say you work at a bakery, does that mean you bake there?” She lobbies the question at him even as she shuffles into the kitchen to procure more beer. She grabs one for herself and for him; she doesn’t bother asking.

“One of my hidden talents,” he admits, smiling when she returns with another beer for him. “My parents own a bakery, too.” She plops down in the chair, and he raises his eyebrows at her. “What about you? What do you do besides putting songbirds to shame?”

She rolls her eyes, and her lips quiver humorously. “I make and serve overpriced coffee. Maybe my only other talent.”

He laughs. “Peddling caffeine to the masses. I think you underestimate the value of what you do.”

She shrugs. “I do make a mean latte, but I’m kind of banking on the whole singing thing. Which is probably incredibly stupid,” she laughs dismissively, tugging on the hem of her sleeve that hangs limply around her wrist.

Peeta leans back on the couch, stretching his legs out. “With that voice? No way. You could win 'American Idol'—is that still a thing? Get an automatic record deal that way. I don’t know why you’re bothering with this whole 'working for pennies' thing like the rest of us peasants.”

She senses his facetiousness, but Katniss makes a face. “People tell me that, and I can’t think of a less enjoyable experience than putting myself on live TV every week to be picked apart and criticized and evaluated like livestock or something,” she protests, pulling her braid over her shoulder. Idly, she unwinds the elastic from the end and threads her fingers through the crimps to comb it out.

Peeta’s eyes follow her movements, and he takes a sip of beer before leveling a wry smile at her. “Fair enough. Baring your soul for possible rejection is much easier to do in front of a smaller audience.”

She cracks a smirk, fanning her hair out over her shoulder then dropping her hands into her lap. “Precisely.”

They talk for a while longer, draining their next beers. It’s just cheap piss beer, but Katniss can feel the cloudy sensation fogging her head. Still, she asks him if he wants another beer. It seems like it's been a while since she’s had such an extensive conversation with anyone other than Gale and Madge.

Peeta starts to nod his head as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Sure—oh, shit, actually, I didn’t realize how late it is,” he says, his thumbs flying across the screen as he types out a message. She stands there awkwardly, and he flashes her an apologetic smile. “I need to get going.”

Disappointed, she folds her arms over her stomach but nods. “Of course. Thanks again. For your willingness to help and everything.”

Standing up, he shrugs and grabs his guitar from the floor. “The pleasure’s been all mine. Thank you for giving me a chance. I think it has the potential to be a pretty great partnership.”

She follows him to the door, mulling over his words. Then she smiles at him before he leaves. “I think you’re right.”

* * *

Peeta books them two shows the following week, on Wednesday and Thursday night, just like he said. She’s surprised by the turnout when she arrives at The Mine on Wednesday prior to their set. It’s larger than the handful of people she got used to when playing with Gale. Most of them have to be here for Peeta. She only recognizes a few of her friends, like Gale and Madge, who she specifically informed about the show, and a few familiar faces she’s come to recognize from The Hunters’ shows.

“Nervous?” Peeta asks her while they’re setting up. She looks up at him from where she’s adjusting her mic stand.

“Why? Do I look nervous?” she asks, her eyes darting to the crowd.

He smiles and moves closer to her. “Kind of. You have this deer in headlights look in your eyes.”

Her lips purse in a scowl, and she steps away from the mic just to be sure it doesn’t pick up their conversation. “It’s not like I’m new to this.”

“I know. But you can still be nervous despite the number of times you perform,” he says with a shrug. “I still get a rush of nerves before every show too.”

Her face relaxes as she studies him. “I don’t think anyone would know it. You always seem so calm.”

“Never let them see you sweat. That’s the rule I try to live by.”

Katniss takes a deep breath, tucking some hair behind her ear. “I guess it’s just a little more nerve-racking this time. It’s our first time together—performing,” she rushes to complete her thought, looking away from him, back at the crowd. “And this is...admittedly more people than I’m used to playing for. I think they’d rather just hear you play.” She’s rambling, she realizes.

“I paid them to be here,” he deadpans, cracking a smile. Her huff of laughter blows some bangs out of her face, and he touches her shoulder to get her attention. “Hey.” She turns her eyes back to him, and he smiles, cupping her shoulder to squeeze it reassuringly. She blinks up at him and swallows thickly. He’s so close. His thumb grazes the bare skin of her collar bone. “You’re going to be great. They’ll love you—if they don’t already. I think you have more fans than you realize. I’m just here to make you look good.”

He lowers his hand, and she laughs lightly, her voice fluttery. She’s suddenly acutely aware of the number of eyes on them, and she tries to lift her chin up, indifferent. “Are you ready?” she asks, and he grabs his guitar off a nearby stool.

“Whenever you are, boss,” he says with a salute before hooking the strap around his neck then grins. “You can have the honor of introducing us.”

“Thanks,” she mutters and turns back to the mic. Scanning the crowd for a familiar face, she finds Gale and Madge, who shoots her an enthusiastic thumbs up. Katniss smiles faintly in return. “Hi, thank you for coming. We’re The Hunters—uh.” She glances at Peeta uncertainly, and he shrugs. It doesn’t feel right calling themselves by her and Gale’s old name. “Well, we’re Katniss and Peeta.”

Peeta leans toward his mic. “I’m Katniss, she’s Peeta.” When the crowd titters at his joke, he makes a face. “I got that wrong, didn’t I?”

She rolls her eyes at him. “Are we playing music or doing a comedy routine?”

“I’m just getting warmed up." He plucks one of his strings for emphasis.

“Is that a threat?” she asks. The crowd laughs again, and she bites down on her lip to fight her own smile. Her anxiety is waning; Peeta must pick up on this because he gives her a brief, reassuring smile then nods, the opening notes of their first song reverberating from his guitar.

“Maybe we should just give the crowd what they came for,” he suggests, the corner of his mouth hiking up slightly.

“Gladly,” she murmurs, already awash in the guitar music as he plays the beginning chords. She waits for the right one, her belly expands with her deep inhale, and then she joins him, letting her voice curl out to every corner of the room.

She doesn’t look away from him once during the song, or much at all the rest of their set, for that matter. It’s oddly comforting, shrouding her mind with a veil of calm even as her heart and blood pump under the intensity of his gaze. He rarely looks away from her either, as if he can feel the steadying effect he has on her.

Maybe, in a weird way, she helps steady him, too.

* * *

They finish the last song of their set, and Katniss doesn’t want it to end. The crowd erupts into cheers before the last note of Peeta’s guitar even fades, and Katniss practically has to take a step back from the aural force of their applause. It’s overwhelming, and thrilling, and she mutters her gratitude repeatedly into the mic, feeling Peeta slip his hand around hers to squeeze.

Surprised, she looks to him as he twists his guitar around to his back. His face glows, his smile radiant, and she launches herself into his arms as he reaches for her. His laugh rumbles in her ears, and she hugs his neck tightly, her toes skimming the stage as he nearly lifts her off the ground.

“That was awesome!” he yells over the noise, and she nods into his shoulder as the applause and shouts peter out into the usual barroom chatter.

He finally releases her, and she pulls back, her boots finding purchase on the floor once again. Her face stretches into a wide smile, and she beams up at him. “That was so much fun! I don’t think I’ve ever played a set that was that much fun before!” she gushes. She doesn't gush, ever. She feels like she's rolling on molly or something. Her hands linger on his shoulders, her fingers trembling, made restless by the adrenaline still pumping through her veins and arteries.

Peeta's cheek dimples, teeth flashing white with his wide grin. “Stick with me then,” he says, and her throat tightens. His cheeks are flushed, and his forehead is dewy, his hairline darkened with perspiration. Her palms itch to blot the sweat there. He’s illuminated by the soft, hazy stage lights, and his light blue eyes look like amethysts in the red mood lighting.

He’s beautiful.

Taking a shaky breath, Katniss drops her hands to her sides and turns away to begin the process of taking down their set. Eager to do something else with her hands before they do something inappropriate, like start pulling at his clothes. Peeta lifts his guitar over his head and sets it on his stool to assist her. It’s impossible to wipe the smile off her face, but she tries not to sneak too many glances at him while they clear the stage.

She’s eager to find Madge and Gale, to see what they thought of the show, and to celebrate with a drink or two. They’re sitting at a corner table, and when Madge catches her eyes, she waves Katniss over eagerly, holding up a beer bottle to indicate she already grabbed a drink for her.

Katniss breaks into a grin, still flying high on excitement. What a wonderful friend. She bought her a beer, she introduced her to Peeta.

Madge might just be her new best friend. Sorry, Gale.

As she bounds up to the table, Katniss rolls onto the balls of her feet and raises her eyebrows at them. “What did you think?” she prompts, glancing between the two of her friends.

“You guys were so good!” Madge squeals, shoving the beer into Katniss’s hand so she can clink her own bottle to it in cheers. “Congratulations!”

Grinning, Katniss takes a swig of her beer and then looks to Gale. His opinion means the most. He shrugs, a faint smile on his mouth. “It was pretty good. I mean, Peeta’s not me, but…” He trails off, and his smile widens into a grin as Katniss rolls her eyes. Gale’s eyes shift over her shoulder, and he tips his chin to greet Peeta, handing over a fresh beer to him as well. “Good job, man.”

“Thanks, man,” Peeta says breathlessly, and Katniss twists around to face him. Her cheeks hurt from smiling so big. He holds up his beer to her, and she clinks hers against his glass bottle. A grin spreads across his face. “Not too bad, huh?”

The urge to hug him again surges through her, but she refrains. The hug on stage was easier to explain, being swept up in the thrill of performing. But Katniss isn’t a hugger. Gale would definitely side eye her, and she’s sure Madge would flash her one of those obnoxiously knowing smiles, the kind all girls have when they want to tease their friends when it comes to guys.

“We have to do it again tomorrow,” Katniss reminds Peeta before sipping her beer. He tips his head back for a deep swig of his beer, and when he lowers it, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, his eyebrows are raised.

“So does that mean I'm officially in the band?” he asks, and she just shrugs.

“Depends on how tomorrow goes.” But her wry tone belies the flippancy of her words. Peeta just chuckles, and Gale and Madge encourage them to sit down at their table so they can rave some more about the show.

* * *

Three hours and three more beers later, Katniss and Peeta are alone at the table, Madge and Gale having excused themselves over two hours ago to go home. Katniss expected Peeta to do the same when they left, but he seemed content to stay and talk with her longer. And she wasn’t about to end their conversation sooner than necessary. The bartender’s going to have to kick her out of here.

There’s just something so riveting about talking to Peeta, his presence oddly intoxicating, and Katniss throws her head back to laugh a little too loudly when he tells her about a incident with burnt caramel at the bakery he works at.

“You wouldn’t be laughing if you knew how horrible burnt caramel smells,” he scolds her, but he’s laughing too.

She slinks down in her stool a little, shaking her head as she notices the bemused look the bartender throws her. She really is getting a little rowdy. “It’s just sugar! Besides, it can’t be worse than the smell of burnt hair,” she says, and Peeta makes a disgusted face. “Have you never smelled burnt hair?”

He shakes his head, draping his elbow over the back of his chair. “I don’t really make it a habit to set people’s hair on fire,” he says and arches an eyebrow to prompt her. She rolls her eyes, her mouth curling up.

“I have a younger sister. She has this really long, thick blonde hair, and I would help her style it sometimes. I left a chunk around the curling iron a little too long one time,” she explains, wrinkling her nose before she laughs sheepishly. “The section burned right off. And this was right before prom. It took Prim a couple years to forgive me for that.”

Peeta starts laughing so hard, his face turns red. The sound is contagious, and Katniss joins him, covering her face out of embarrassment. Still, she knows his amusement isn’t malicious.

“You balded your sister before prom?” he chokes out.

“It wasn’t that bad!” she protests. “Just a bald... _patch_ , maybe, but she had so much hair anyway, no one could tell! That much.”

He clicks his tongue at her in mock disapproval. “As the youngest of three brothers, I have to sympathize with your sister. We look to our older siblings to take care of us. Not horribly disfigure us.”

Katniss snorts and lifts her beer bottle to catch the last drops on her tongue. “Disfigure? Not even my 17-year-old sister was that melodramatic.”

“Okay, maybe your sister is a bigger person than I am,” he concedes, his face relaxed with mirth. He's about to say more, but when he sees her eyes lift over his shoulder at a woman approaching, he glances up. 

The young brunette smiles bashfully. "Hi, just wanted to say you guys played a really good set tonight," she says, adjusting the purse strap on her shoulder. Her eyes dart between the two of them but linger on Peeta. "I'm also a really huge fan of Ponce de Leon. You guys are so amazing."

Peeta looks embarrassed, but he smiles at her graciously, tipping his head in acknowledgement. Katniss looks away, trying not to laugh. "Ah, thanks, it's always nice to meet a fan," he replies, shaking her hand. The woman doesn't try to shake Katniss' hand, which makes it obvious to her that she really only came up to talk to Peeta.

The brunette smiles toothily, giggling even, and then ducks her head. "Well, have a good night!"

When she scurries away, Peeta makes a face at Katniss. "I think that's the first time that's ever happened to me."

She snorts, amused. "I doubt it."

"I really haven't been in Ponce de Leon  _that_ long. I doubt they even know my name yet."

Swirling her finger in a puddle of condensation on the table, Katniss looks at him pensively. "What does Ponce de Leon mean, anyway?" she asks.

He presses his lips together to suppress a grin, but then he's chuckling to himself. "Okay, just know that I had nothing to do with this name. It existed long before I joined." He shakes his head. "Apparently, they thought it meant 'dandelion.'"

She narrows her eyes. "But it doesn't?"

"No!" He laughs. "It doesn't even mean anything. I think they were going for _dent de lion,_ which is the French word for 'dandelion.' But Ponce de Leon is Spanish. I googled it. It's just some guy's name who was looking for the Fountain of Youth or something a long time ago."

She starts laughing too. It's probably not even that funny, but hearing Peeta laugh makes her laugh, and soon she has to breathe deeply to ease the cramp in her stomach. "Oh my god. Boys are dumb."

His laughter fades, too, and he wipes at the water swelling in the corners of his eyes. "We are. We really are," he agrees with forced solemnity, bracing his arm against the table to prop his chin in his hand.

The bartender comes around to grab their empty beer bottles. “Last call, you guys. Did y’all want anything else?” he offers. Their drinks for the night have been free all night, compensation for performing earlier.

Katniss shakes her head at the bartender, though she feels a morsel of remorse that the night’s ending already. Peeta pulls his phone out of his pocket to check the time. “Damn,” he sighs with a frown, and he digs his thumb and finger into his eyes. “I can’t believe we’ve been here this long. It doesn’t feel like any time has passed at all.”

She nods in agreement and leans against the table. “Guess you’re an okay person to talk to,” she says, trying not to smile as he narrows his eyes. He tries to hold onto his indignation, but a slow grin tilts his mouth, and he slumps onto the table too.

“You’re not too bad yourself, Everdeen,” he teases, and she struggles against the urge to bite down on her lip. He’s closer now. She catches whiffs of sweat and an underlying base of something spicy. Deodorant, maybe. It’s doing something weird to her head, making it swim. At this distance, she can see the freckles patterning his nose, can almost reach out and zigzag her fingers through them. There’s gray and gold flecks in his eyes, and she can’t stop staring at them.

Until she sees them lower, just slightly, darting down to her lips. Her stomach twists with delicious anticipation, and she drags a mouthful of air into her lungs to steady herself, wets her lips as she musters the courage to murmur her next words. She's about to do something foolishly out of character for herself, but the warmth and the alcohol coursing through her make her want to take that leap. 

“Do you...do you want to go back to my place?”

Something heart-stopping flickers in his eyes, and he freezes. The pupils that were previously thick, swollen within their blue wells, contract, and his eyebrows climb up his forehead.

Yeah, her heart definitely stops as she tries to decipher the bewilderment and panic in his expression. He sits up straighter, putting palpable distance between them, and he speaks haltingly, “Katniss—I...I have a girlfriend.”

Her head swims, rages, but it’s horror and not alcohol or his scent that sends it off its axis this time, that stakes her heart through the pit of her stomach.

“I’m— _shit_ , I’m so sorry if I gave you the wrong idea,” Peeta rushes to add, apparently noticing the way her face has blanched.

Katniss is already sliding off her stool, unable to meet his eyes, the pity and—what? disgust?—too heavy in them for her to stomach. “Don’t—it’s fine, seriously,” she blurts, and it must be sheer mortification alone propelling her away from the table and toward the door because she’s not sure her wobbly legs would hold her up otherwise. “I’m, uh, I gotta—I’ll, I’ll see you—see you later.” Her goodbye is mumbled and strained as she snatches her purse off the back of her stool, hard enough to send the chair careening to the floor with a loud clang, but she doesn’t stop to right it.

She definitely doesn’t stop when Peeta calls her name either, just drops her head down and scampers out the front door before she can further humiliate herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *"Down in the Valley," an old folk song and the best guess for the Valley Song Peeta remembers Katniss singing in school.


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't know a thing about music or music labels or record contracts, only what I've gleaned from watching movies and TV shows and talking to a few musician friends/acquaintances. I'll probably take some liberties, so please forgive any inaccuracies and chalk it up to creative license.

**Peeta M [sent Thurs 2:17 a.m.]:** _I’m so sorry Katniss_

 **Peeta M [sent Thurs 2:17 a.m.]:** _I thought you knew, I figured Madge would have mentioned it or something._

 **Peeta M [sent Thurs 2:24 a.m.]:** _Can you please let me know you got home okay or something?_

 **Peeta M [sent Thurs 8:53 a.m.]:** _I understand if you’re upset, but if you’re embarrassed and that’s why you won’t talk to me, please don’t be. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about._

Katniss stares at the slew of texts Peeta sent her since she ran out of the bar last night—since the girlfriend bombshell—her face contorted painfully as she relives the moment all over again, the humiliation of putting herself out there only to be rejected. Once the first text came in, she immediately turned her phone off, unable to even see his name at that moment. She just wanted to crawl into bed and hide under her covers in shame, hoping futilely that everything would just be a dream when she awoke.

But the embarrassment was still fresh when she opened her eyes hours later and dragged herself out of bed to get ready for work. She didn’t turn her phone back on until well into her shift at the coffee shop, and her stomach knotted, then double-knotted, when his messages popped up, one after another.

It’s like he’s determined to humiliate her further by constantly reminding her about the incident.

Can’t he just ignore her and pretend nothing happened like any _normal_ person would?

Stifling a groan, Katniss turns her phone on silent and stuffs it into her back pocket again just as a patron rushes up to the counter to order an iced cappuccino and an almond croissant.

She tries to put Peeta out of her mind as she works, but her mind keeps drifting back to that moment. The look of horror in his eyes. The horror that she would even _ask_ him to sleep with her…

_I’m really sorry if I gave you the wrong idea._

She yanks the portafilter handle on the espresso machine a little too hard as she suddenly remembers his words from last night. Anger seeps into her movements, making them jerky and rough.

 _If_ he gave her the wrong idea? What a pompous, arrogant non-apology that shirks any responsibility or accountability for flirting with her when he’s got a _girlfriend_. He _had_ flirted with her, she’s certain of that now. Calling her pretty, buttering her up with compliments, spending hours at her house, touching her shoulder, hugging her, leaning in close at the bar, not once mentioning a girlfriend before last night. He even did that _thing—_ that thing where he looked at her mouth! You don’t do that unless you want to kiss someone!

She’s not crazy. She didn’t imagine it, she didn’t just misinterpret his kindness or something. Now to try to act innocent, like he hadn’t lead her on...

“Asshole,” she hisses under her breath, jerking the knob for the steam wand angrily as she shoves the cup of espresso underneath the metal tube.

Her coworker, Bristel, glances at her curiously, quirking an eyebrow and tipping a spray can of whipped cream over the plastic cup in her hand. “What did that machine ever do to you?” she asks. The can hisses as it spurts a white, coiled ribbon of cream over the coffee.

Katniss just shakes her head and spins back around to the counter with the espresso, not even attempting to wipe the scowl off her face when the customer fearfully takes the cup. “I’m gonna take my lunch,” she announces to Bristel before stomping into the backroom.

Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she sees she has yet another text from Peeta. Guilty conscience, she surmises with an inkling of smug satisfaction before she reads his message: _Will you at least let me know if we’re still playing tonight? If not, I need to let my friend know ASAP so he can schedule another musician._

Her eyes make a valiant escape attempt from her sockets. He seriously thinks she would still play with him after last night? The nerve of this guy!

Seething, she unlocks her phone and pulls up her contacts. Not to call Peeta, but to call Madge.

After a couple rings, her friend answers. “Hey, what’s—?”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me Peeta has a girlfriend?!” she snaps, weaving through the back room until she gets to the exit door and flings it open.

The confusion in Madge’s stunned silence fills Katniss’ ear before her friend finally replies, “Um...what?”

“Did you know he has a girlfriend?” Katniss reiterates, squinting in the afternoon sun. Her lips curl in a barely restrained sneer.

“Well, yeah, but what—why would I need to tell you exactly?” Madge asks skeptically. Katniss can’t think of a fast enough response, her previous embarrassment grinding back into place, and Madge fills in the blanks. “Wait...do you like him or something?”

“No!” _Not anymore._ “But I didn’t know he had a girlfriend! He never mentioned it, you never mentioned it! It’s a little weird that I’ve spent this much time with him, and nobody’s brought it up yet! We’ve been playing music together! I mean—it’s a little—it’s just—it’s improper! I mean, right?”

By the end of her rant, she’s lost steam, floundering for the right words to fully explain the betrayal here. But listening to herself, saying it out loud, she realizes how ridiculous she sounds.

“I’m sorry?” Madge offers uncertainly. “But I guess I didn’t think...well, I wasn’t trying to set you two up for anything romantic. I didn’t think it was something I needed to tell you. I just thought you needed a band mate.”

“I do!” Katniss rubs her forehead, frustrated. “I don’t need or want anything else, it’s just—he’s been flirting with me, Madge! What kind of guy flirts with another woman when he’s got a girlfriend? It’s disrespectful! And where has she been, exactly? She didn’t come to the show! And she’s cool with him going to random girls' apartments alone?”

“I don’t know. She’s still in school, but I think she’s on vacation with her family right now.” Madge chews over her friend’s response. “Maybe Peeta didn’t mean to flirt. He’s just kind of that guy, I guess. Really sweet and charming. He gets along with everybody. I think he just likes to go out of his way to be nice to other people.”

A low growl resonates in Katniss’ throat. Now _Madge_ thinks she just imagined the whole thing, too. “I’m not an idiot, Madge.” Despite how acutely she feels like one right now. “He was flirting with me.”

“I believe you!” Madge insists. “But...he’s my cousin, you know? I can’t exactly shit-talk him with you. And I also know him, I see how he interacts with people. So I just think...I don’t know, some people have different thresholds for what they consider flirting, you know? So what you think is inappropriate for a guy with a girlfriend, maybe he doesn’t. I’m not saying that’s okay!” Madge rushes to add frantically, seemingly sensing the tirade Katniss is ready to launch into, signaled by her sharp inhale of air. “So, it’s totally understandable to be annoyed, I get it!”

Katniss growls again, but this time to herself, or rather at the effigy of Peeta Mellark she’s constructed in her head so she can mentally bash it over and over. “Well, I don’t care if his girlfriend is fine with the way he flirts with other women. I’m not okay with that. I don’t want to work with that kind of person," she says stubbornly.

Madge sucks on her teeth on the other end. “So, um...you’re not going to play music with him?” she asks carefully, and Katniss scoffs.

“No!” Nevermind that she’s sure she couldn’t even look him in the eye again; she doesn’t want to make music with a liar. “Being friends with my music partner is important to me, and there’s no way I’d wanna be friends with him after this.”

“Hm. Well...that’s too bad,” Madge says slowly. “You guys really did put on a great show last night. I thought you two worked well together. But it’s your call. What about tonight though?”

The phone presses firmly against Katniss’ cheek in her tight grip, and she crosses one arm under her ribs. “I’ll just cancel. It’s my band.”

“Maybe you should just play the show. You’re already booked. It’s probably not a great idea to back out of a set so suddenly. Other venues might not want to work with you if they think you’re flaky.”

“I’m not flaky,” Katniss bites out.

“I know you’re not! But you know how the local music scene works, how fast word spreads. And I know you’re a consummate professional, Katniss. You don’t bow out without reason.”

With a pained groan, Katniss digs the pads of her thumb and forefinger into her closed eyes. Her friend really knows how to pluck at her principles. But can she really face Peeta after everything? Can she really stomach singing next to him when she’s so damn furious with him? When she feels so humiliated?

Yes. Because Madge is right. She’s a professional.

“Fine,” Katniss huffs. “Last show with him. But you better be there in case I need to strangle you afterward for talking me into this.”

Madge snorts. “Sure, as long as you give me one of your free drinks. I promise it’ll be fine, Katniss. You don’t even have to look at him tomorrow. Just be very above it, like you don’t care. Bands do this everyday, members hate each other all the time, and they still go out there and perform.”

With that reassurance, Katniss disconnects her call, and before she can rethink her plan, she pulls up Peeta’s texts and fires off a terse reply: _I’ll be there tonight._

She doesn’t bother reading his nearly immediate response, pocketing her phone instead.

* * *

Of course, Peeta’s at the bar when she gets there, only 10 minutes before their set is scheduled to start. She purposely shows up as late as she can, just to avoid as much interaction with him as possible, but he’s ready to pounce on her the moment she walks through the door. He was probably beginning to doubt she would show.

Good.

His expression is harried, weary and kind of desperate, and he’s stalking toward her. “Katniss—” he starts, but other than an involuntary flick of her eyes to his, she ignores him, quickening her pace to the stage. He’s hot on her heels as she weaves through the crowd, around bodies and tables—she realizes with dismay and disbelief there are a lot more people than last night; it’s for that reason, maybe, that Peeta doesn’t speak again until they’re on stage, where she’s practically cornered.

“Katniss,” he tries again, his eyes sliding to her sidelong as he grabs his guitar from his stool. He keeps his back to the audience in a display of discretion. She doesn’t reply, pretending to adjust her mic, but it looks like he’s already set everything up, leaving nothing for her to mess with in her bid to ignore him. Even her mic is at the perfect height. Still, she makes a point of raising it and then lowering it again. “Can we talk? Will you please say something to me?”

Her face hard, she glances up at the audience. Some are watching them curiously, but most just talk among themselves as they wait for the show to start. “I’m just here to do the job we were hired for,” she says, keeping her tone even. As even as she can, anyway, with the sudden fluttering of her nerves that makes her chest tight, that constricts her lungs and shallows her breaths. She’s not sure it’s entirely a result of pre-performance anxiety, either.

With a hard exhale, Peeta rakes his hand through his curls—they’re quite messy and haphazard, more so than usual, as if his hand has taken that path through his hair one too many times today—and steps closer to her. Her body goes rigid, and she shoots him a warning glare. “I’m sorry, okay? I don’t entirely understand why you’re _this_ pissed at me—it was just a misunderstanding. I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong idea, but can’t we just laugh it off and put it behind us? I want to be your friend, and I want to keep making music with you—”

Again: _**If** I gave you the wrong idea._

She suddenly feels lightheaded with rage, and she pounces on his absurd proclamation. “You’re unbelievable!” she hisses, no longer too terribly concerned with the audience witnessing their heated exchange. “You flirt with me, and then tell me _I_ just _misunderstood_? Just admit that you’re a shitty boyfriend and an entitled creep, and _then_ maybe we can just put this behind us.”

His mouth hangs open as he gapes at her. Embarrassment, or maybe anger, blots his cheeks red, and he sucks in a breath through his teeth. “That’s—you have no idea what kind of boyfriend I am. I don’t—I’ve never, I would _never_ cheat, I’m not an asshole despite what you seem to think of me. I don’t lead women on—I don’t _purposely_ lead women on. I wasn’t aware I was flirting with you, Katniss! I was just—I was being nice. I thought we were getting to know each other, becoming friends. I’m not—I have no interest—I mean, I wasn’t trying to sleep with you, I would never—”

He’s flustered, rambling, cringing even when he says the last words, and despite how angry she is with him, how little she wants anything to do with him, the declaration, the insinuation that he has absolutely no interest in her that way is still a punch to her gut.

Her face burns. Because while he might not want to have sex with her, he’s well aware that she wanted to have sex with him. It’s humiliating, doubly so now that he’s put those words out there. He might as well have blasted it in neon lights to the crowd, _“I would never fuck you, Katniss Everdeen.”_

He doesn’t have to like her that way, but does he have to be so cruel about it?

Her limbs tremble, her lip quivering ever so slightly, and she grips the mic in her hand hard, desperate for something to hold on to. She’s tempted to run, say _fuck the show_ , but so many eyes are on them now in anticipation. She can’t bail on the show this late in the game.

But maybe if she vomits, they’ll just think she’s sick and gladly excuse her cancellation. Which might happen, because she definitely feels like she could puke right now.

Instead, she swallows; it takes two hard contractions of her throat to push the rising nausea down. Peeta’s face looks pale, ashen, as he watches her. “Katniss…” he trails off, his voice thick with contrition, and it takes everything she has in her not to kick him in his shins. Both of them, just two hard kicks to each tibia.

“We have nothing else to discuss. We barely know each other. We’re not friends, and after this show, we’re definitely not band mates,” she says flatly, keeping her eyes trained on the crowd. She sends up a silent cry of gratitude that her voice sounds as steady as it does. Peeta doesn’t say anything at first before he sighs, the sound the epitome of defeat.

“Okay, Katniss.”

She doesn’t know why he’s the one who sounds wounded here, like he’s the one who’s been rejected. Still, she thrills in the smallest sense of victory. She just stands stiffly at her microphone and stares over the heads of the patrons, waiting for Peeta to begin the introductions when it’s time. He fiddles with his guitar strings, like he’s stalling, and Katniss finds Madge and Gale in the crowd, off in a corner.

Madge makes an apologetic face when they make eye contact, and Gale sits stone-faced beside his girlfriend. His dark, hooded eyes make it obvious Madge has told him what happened; it pleases Katniss that her best friend has her back. He’s like an older brother in that regard—a very overprotective, hostile older brother. Which is exactly the kind of brother you want in this type of situation.

Finally, Peeta clears his throat—a couple times, like it’s an effort, but then he smiles at the crowd, a cheerful, easy mask slipping into place. “Hey, thanks for coming to hear us play. We’re, ah—” He hesitates, faltering on their name like she had the night before, and he glances at Katniss in question.

“Just Katniss and Peeta,” she says, meaning it to be a sharp rebuke, but some in the crowd titter anyway, like she and Peeta are back to their previous comedic routine or something. It’s annoying, and Katniss just shoots Peeta a glare so he’ll get on with the first song already.

He does, fingers easily sliding over the strings in the opening chords. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes to wait for her cue, and to steel herself for the next 20 minutes of having to sing with him.

Unfortunately, for the first time in her life, music and singing do not bring her solace. She’s too aware of his presence beside her the entire time, and she’s on edge throughout the set, her body taut and strung like a tightrope. It’s impossible not to throw glares his way every now and then. To his credit, he weathers the storm of her rage like a professional, offering little reaction and no retaliation.

Which really only serves to infuriate her more. After the set mercifully ends, she’s barely able to choke out a mouth-pinched thanks to the audience over the loud applause before hopping off the stage and beelining for Madge and Gale.

Madge offers her a conciliatory but guarded smile. Gale’s still frowning, though his eyes regard her with warm compassion and concern when she stops in front of their table. But his gaze hardens as it slides over her shoulder, silently informing her that Peeta followed her.

She ignores him, scowling at her friends as she crosses her arms over her chest. “Hope you enjoyed that train wreck,” she says, her voice thick with bitter wry.

Madge shrugs. “I don’t know if it’s better to agree with you or not, but actually...I thought it was still pretty good,” she says cautiously, withering slightly under Katniss’ glower.

Peeta sighs to her right, and without even looking at him, she knows he’s running his hand through his sweat-slicked hair. She’s just planning to ignore him, but his inadvertent sound has apparently drawn the ire of Gale, who narrows his eyes at him.

“Show’s over, Mellark, so maybe you should just beat it,” he drawls, and despite the low cadence of the words, the hostility there sharpens his command. Madge flushes beside him, her eyes widening.

“Gale, that’s uncalled for,” she chastises, throwing Peeta a sympathetic grimace. He doesn’t respond to her or Gale, and though Katniss knows her friend is just sticking up for her family, she can’t help but feel a kernel of betrayal at Madge’s defense of the jerkbag beside her.

Rolling her neck, Katniss clears her throat. “I did what I came here to do, so I’m gonna head out,” she announces, intent on collecting her $50 from the bar manage before leaving, but Madge shakes her head adamantly.

“Wait, you haven’t done _everything_ you’re supposed to do. You said I could have one of your free drinks!”

“Does that mean I get to strangle you too?” Madge pouts in response. Katniss’ teeth grind together, and she rolls her eyes. “Fine. White wine spritzer?” she asks, though it’s not really a question as she’s already shifting toward the bar. Peeta clears his throat.

“Can you—”

Really? Her glare cuts him off, and he rolls his lips together before muttering, “Never mind, I’ll get something later.”

Stalking toward the bar, Katniss leaves them behind to flag down the bartender and order Madge’s drink. Perhaps feeling somewhat amendable, considering her friends did come out to see her, she orders a gin and tonic for herself. Not her usual beer because a gin and tonic will be faster to drink.

As she waits, her gaze drifts over to her friends and Peeta, who’s hovering by Madge’s side now. His head is ducked, and he seems to be talking quickly and urgently, his hands sweeping through the air in frantic gestures. Madge’s mouth is puckered as she hisses things at him in return, and Gale just continues to stare at him stoically, his arms crossed over his chest.

Knowing herself to be the topic of their heated discussion, Katniss impatiently grabs the two drinks once the bartender slides them over and stomps back to the table, annoyed. Peeta goes rigid when he spots her from the corner of his eye, and he immediately clams up, rubbing at the back of his neck.

She’s actually enjoying making him uncomfortable; it detracts from thinking about how he embarrassed her. So she decides to sip her gin and tonic slowly, assuming a bored expression. Gale isn’t eager to jumpstart the conversation, so Madge and Peeta attempt to make small talk about the show, like nothing’s amiss. Katniss can see more of the resemblance between the cousins now, apart from the blond hair and blue eyes.

A raspy cough over her shoulder startles her, and Katniss cranes her head around to scowl at the intrusion.

“Sorry to interrupt,” a paunchy, thin-haired man drawls. His skin is a dark complexion, and his gray eyes reflect amusement, like he’s not at all bothered by her off-putting demeanor as he sips his high baller of what looks, and reeks, like whisky. A woman stands off to his right, her blonde, overly styled hair, sharp makeup and prim attire a stark contrast to his slouchy jeans, wrinkled t-shirt and too-big blazer.

“You don’t look it,” Katniss replies dryly, and he snorts. Truthfully, she’s not sure why she’s being rude to him. Well, she knows why, but this stranger doesn’t deserve the brunt of her aggravation toward Peeta.

“Well, sweetheart, I was going to compliment you two on a great set, but I guess I’ll skip the pleasantries since you’re not—well, _pleasant_ ,” he shoots back, digging through the inside pocket of his coat. He produces two business cards and holds them out to her and Peeta. “My name’s Haymitch Abernathy. I represent District Thirteen Records.” The woman beside him clears her throat delicately, pointedly, and he rolls his eyes. “This is Effie Trinket. She also works with District Thirteen.”

Effie smiles brightly at them. “So nice to meet you. Your music is wonderful,” she gushes.

Stunned, Katniss regards her strangely before glancing down at the card in her hand.

 _Haymitch Abernathy_   
_Music Manager, A &R_   
_District Thirteen Records_

“Holy shit,” Peeta breathes beside her, gaping at the business card pinched between his fingers.

Haymitch chuckles gruffly, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Heard of us, maybe? We’re not one of the major labels, but we represent a decent number of acts, some I’m sure you’ve heard of—like The Peacekeepers—and we’re interested in signing you two.”

The Peacekeepers are an indie rock band, and they’ve had a few hits on the radio in the last couple years already. They came out of nowhere, really, due in part to their catchy songs and the attractiveness level of all four members. The lead guitarist and singer, Finnick Odair, is proof alone that God exists.

Katniss’ gaze darts up to Haymitch’s face, and even Peeta inhales sharply at the mention of The Peacekeepers. “What?” she barks out, the sound louder and more suspicious than she intends. “Sign us? What? Like—like—like—” She can’t form the words, can’t articulate—what the hell is she even trying to ask? The possibility sounds so absurd that her brain can’t even think it.

“Yes, sweetheart, like a record deal,” Haymitch smirks. Actually smirks the words. Both she and Peeta are still too flabbergasted to formulate a response, so he continues, “Our talent scout, Delly, caught your set last night. Normally, she just scours YouTube for new talent, but sometimes she likes to still get out there and check out the local talent in bars. Lucky you, she happened to pick this bar in this town. She thought y’all might be a good fit for our label, sent me a video. When she told me y’all would be playing another set tonight, I thought I’d come check you out myself to be sure. Delly's never wrong, that girl. She’s got an eye, and an ear, for this kind of thing.”

Peeta grips the business card in his hand. “So you...like our music?” he asks hesitantly, excitement tinging his inquiry. Katniss can feel her own hands starting to tremble.

A record company likes their music—no, _her_ music…

Haymitch snorts again. “Don’t get me wrong. If I were into the kind of music you play, I’m sure it sounds great. As it stands, the acoustic indie sound you do ain’t nothing new. It’s a dime a dozen in this industry right now. I bet we could go to the shit hole next door and find two more schmucks like you strumming on a guitar and warbling about some farmhouse out in the country they’ve never actually even seen.”

Reflexively, Katniss scowls again, and anger fills the vacuum left by his crushing words. “So you want to sign us because we’re like everybody else,” she snaps. This rejection might even sting worse than Peeta’s—this is about her livelihood, something she’s spent years crafting, investing sweat and tears into, pieces of her soul. “Thanks but no thanks.”

The older man just smirks at her again, shaking his head. “Easy. Do you always scowl this much? I just meant you’re very marketable. It’s a compliment. Mostly. But the music isn’t really why we’re here.”

At that, Effie butts in, her face positively alight with eagerness. “The two of you together, on stage, are magic,” she gushes. “The chemistry, I mean. The way you two play off each other! There’s just something, a tension—”

“Right,” Haymitch interjects, rolling his eyes. “Although, what I saw yesterday was a little different. That sort of energy is more what we’re interested in. Not this hate-fuck vibe y’all had goin’ on tonight.”

Angry heat swirls in Katniss’ gut, horror flushing her body all over in an uncomfortable warmth, making her skin tight and prickly. She can’t even look at Peeta, but they both speak at the same time, talking over each other.

“I have a girlfriend!” Peeta exhales urgently, practically tripping over himself to correct Haymitch’s assertion, right as Katniss blurts out, “I don’t want to fuck him!”

Of course, all of that just sounds much more humiliating and awful out loud, and Katniss wants to simultaneously dick-punch Peeta and crawl under the table.

Haymitch eyes them strangely, amusement flecking his nickel-coated eyes. Effie’s face falls, but she brightens almost immediately, as if even more excited by the news. “Oh, even better! It’s like star-crossed lovers!” she squeals, gripping Haymitch’s arm tightly. Her neon pink claws dig into the thick material of his blazer, and he shakes her off with a wince.

Katniss sucks in a gulp of stale bar air, willing her blush away with an adamant shake of her head. “We are _not_ star-crossed lovers,” she growls through thin lips and bared teeth.

Again, another Haymitch smirk. “Who cares? It’s not about reality, sweetheart. It’s all about perception. And if you can make your listeners buy into the perception, they’ll be eating out of the palm of your hands while they throw their money at you.” His eyes flick over to Peeta to regard him. “And probably their panties, too.”

Peeta looks horribly embarrassed, scrubbing a hand through his hair for the umpteenth time.

With a huff, Katniss folds her arms over her chest to assume an obstinate pose. “Well, it doesn’t matter. Because we’re not even a band, him and I. This was just a gig, nothing more.”

“ _Katniss_.”

Madge’s loud hiss reminds Katniss of her friends’ presence, and her head snaps around to look at them. Madge’s eyes are round and pleading, and even Gale’s expression wavers as he takes in the scene.

“Katniss—it’s a _record company_ ,” Madge stage-whispers. “Are you really going to say no just because you’re mad at Peeta?”

Katniss’ lips part, but she doesn’t have an immediate response. Unbidden, her gaze cuts to Peeta, who avoids her eyes to study the business card intently, rolling his pursed lips side to side.

“Look,” Haymitch interrupts. “Think about it for a day. Give me a call when you’ve reached a decision. Even then, nothing’s done until you’ve signed a contract. But if you decide you’re interested, I’ll set up a meeting with the bigwigs in New York. They’ll talk you through what they expect, but again. Nothing’s final until you decide it is. If you decide you’re not interested, you can just walk away. Which you'll kick yourself over if you ask me, but at least you'll have your pride.” His droll tone is working her last nerve, and she narrows her eyes at him.

Peeta glances up at Katniss then, his wary blue eyes catching hers before darting away again, and she tenses, turning Haymitch’s offer over in her head.

But he doesn’t give her a chance to agree or decline, just tips his high baller up to down the last few gulps of his drink. With a wet, satisfied gasp, he slams the glass down on their table and dips his head in parting before stalking through the crowd to the door. Effie scurries after him on her nude stilettos.

Nobody moves for a moment until Madge whistles sharply in disbelief. “Holy shit!”

“Holy shit,” Peeta echoes, his voice sounding far away. Madge grabs his forearm because he’s standing close to her, and she leans across the table to speak directly to Katniss.

“Katniss! I can’t believe it!” Madge smiles so hard, it makes Katniss’ cheeks hurt out of sympathy. But she still feels too dazed to react or respond properly, and Madge’s face falls a little. “You’re going to do it, right?”

Katniss hesitates, her brain still playing catch up. Stubbornness holds her tongue, and she looks over at Peeta again, who, when he catches her eye, scratches his ear lobe.

“I’m gonna go get that drink now,” he mutters before stepping around her to head for the bar.

“Katniss, you’ve gotta do it! This is what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?” Madge demands, her brow furrowed.

Katniss’ lungs expand with a deep breath, and she flexes the business card in her fingers. It is what she wants, but… “I do—I mean, I did, but that was...when I was with Gale. I don’t—” She searches for her words, not wanting to be petulant and say it’s because Peeta hurt her feelings. “I just don’t think Peeta and I make a good team.”

Madge looks like she wants to say something, but she digs her teeth into her bottom lip, slitting her eyes pensively as she looks away. Katniss glances at Gale, who still hasn’t said anything. She arches an eyebrow at him in question. “What do you think?” she asks softly.

With a rough exhale, he rubs his jaw before he snatches the business card out of her fingers. He’s quiet as he reads it, squinting critically. Then he sighs again. “Well, can’t say I’m not a little miffed you get your big break right after I quit,” he says, bitterness lacing his voice, and her eyes widen with hope.

“Then you do it with me!” she exclaims, and he scoffs, handing her the business card back.

“Sorry, Catnip. They want you and Peeta specifically. Something tells me they’ll notice the lack of a certain blond-haired, blue-eyed boyband wonder if I show up.” Her stomach drops, and he shakes his head. “Madge is right. You’d be a dumbass to pass this up just because you’re mad. And I know you’re not an idiot. Stubborn as hell, but not stupid.”

With a pained groan, Katniss crumbles the business card in her hand and presses her fist to her eyes. She can’t decide this now. She needs to get out of here, away from everyone, especially Peeta, so she can reason this out.

“I need to think about it,” she mutters, dropping her hand to her side. She suddenly feels limp and exhausted. She wants to leave before Peeta returns. She just can’t deal with him anymore today. “I’m gonna go home and figure it out. Just...tell Peeta that I’ll text him later, I guess,” she says grudgingly, and, confused, Madge just nods, waving farewell as Katniss brushes past them.

Even as she walks out the door, she knows she’s just stalling. She already knows her answer. 

* * *

 “You nervous?”

Peeta’s voice is soft, cautious. It's pretty much the first words they've spoken to each other since they boarded the plane this morning. She’s not entirely sure his question is directed at her, as he’s hunched over in the seat beside her, elbows braced on his knees, his face turned down to the shiny white-tiled floor. He’s picking at some dry skin on his hand, probably a callus.

She frowns at him, and when he senses she’s actually looking at him, he lifts his eyes to her. “Are _you_?” she responds instead. Her hard voice carries a little too loudly through the large, otherwise silent hallway, and she winces, glancing over at the receptionist behind a tall, arced desk. She and Peeta are currently sitting in some uncomfortable chairs in the lobby of the District Thirteen Records headquarters in New York City, waiting to meet with the president of District Thirteen, Plutarch Heavensbee. It didn’t take long for Katniss to realize she would be kicking herself if she turned down this opportunity, so after she and Peeta contacted Haymitch to agree to a meeting, he immediately flew them up to New York a day later.

“Hell _yeah_ , I’m nervous,” Peeta says in answer to her question, his blue eyes shining honestly. “I’m excited, but this is a monumental game-changer. I’m terrified, actually.”

Her mouth twists down, and she looks away from him. “Yeah,” she mutters. He’s right. She is nervous, but she’s still mad at him. She’s frustrated that this is all happening with him, but, still, this is a chance to get her music out there. For people to hear her. She’s just trying to conveniently forget that Peeta will get to revel in the success beside her, when he hasn’t even done anything to really earn it. _She_ composed all the songs, wrote all the lyrics.

“Miss Everdeen, Mr. Mellark? Mr. Heavensbee will see you now,” the receptionist says, suddenly appearing in front of them in her sleek brown ponytail, gray top and charcoal pencil skirt. Katniss’ mouth goes dry, and her palms grow slick.

Sucking in a deep breath, she stands up—a little too eagerly—and wipes her hands on her thighs. Peeta clambers to his feet beside her, though he does so with an infuriatingly innate poise, and he trails behind Katniss and the receptionist as she leads them down a hallway. The clacks of the woman’s pointy heels echo around them, and Katniss feels a surge of panic as she takes in her worn brown boots, black skinny jeans, and loose white shirt, wondering if she should have gone with business attire. Even Peeta’s wearing gray slacks and a white button-down, though he’s thankfully forgone a tie.

Did she miss the gray memo or something?

She shoots Peeta a suspicious glare over her shoulder, confusing him, but the receptionist stops that moment in front of a set of double doors, so Katniss relaxes her face into a mask of cool indifference. The woman twists the handle down and swings one door open, stepping inside first to introduce them.

“Miss Everdeen and Mr. Mellark are here to see you,” she announces, stepping aside.

Hesitantly, Katniss shuffles into the room. She clutches the strap of her messenger bag to her chest, twisting the leather material in her fists as her gaze sweeps around the oval conference table. She recognizes Haymitch and Effie, who has pink hair today, somehow, but the other two, a heavyset man and a thin, pinched-face woman, are unfamiliar.

“Thank you, Enobaria,” the heavyset man is already on his feet and rounding the table, a wide smile stretching his jowls. “Miss Everdeen, Mr. Mellark, it’s so great to meet you. For the sake of familiarity, is it okay if I call you Katniss and Peeta?”

Katniss plasters a tight, polite smile on her face as she shakes his hand. “Sure,” she mumbles.

“Absolutely,” Peeta says readily, flashing a winning grin when Plutarch reaches for his hand. “Thank you for meeting with us, Mr. Heavensbee.”

“Plutarch is fine, my boy,” he dismisses before gesturing to the table. “Have a seat, please.” Katniss goes to pull out a chair at the end of the table closest to the door, noticing too late that Peeta’s walking around the side to shake the hand of the unknown woman. “Peeta, Katniss, this is Fulvia Cardew. She’s the vice president. And you already know Haymitch and Effie, I believe.”

“Nice to meet you,” Peeta tells Fulvia as they shake hands

Katniss glances around, heat creeping up the back of her neck. “Um, nice to meet you,” she lobbies in Fulvia’s direction before plopping down in her chair awkwardly. Peeta nods greetings at Haymitch and Effie before he pulls the seat out next to Katniss.

“We appreciate you taking the time to come meet with us,” Plutarch starts, taking his seat again.

Peeta aims another easy smile at him. “It’s hard to say no to first-class accommodations,” he volleys back, and everyone laughs, even Haymitch. Katniss’ lips twitch in a reluctant smile. It’s true; she’d never flown first class before this morning.

“Well, only the best for our potential talent.” Plutarch winks then clears his throat. “I suppose we should get down to brass tacks, as we don’t have a whole lot of time today,” he says, glancing down at his platinum watch. “As Haymitch has already explained to you, we’re very interested in signing you to our label. Your music’s good, catchy, which is important, the song writing’s solid, and you have a wonderful voice, Katniss.”

Her throat tightens at the compliment. It’s not that she doesn’t think her voice is good, or that she hasn’t heard people tell her so many times already—but coming from a record label exec, it carries a significant weight. “Thank you,” she croaks and has to clear her throat to repeat it louder.

Plutarch leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “But it’s the two of you together that clinches it. I watched the videos Haymitch provided. It’s magic. Organic. That sort of chemistry can’t be mass produced, it can’t be cooked up in a studio—though I’ve come close. But just watching 10 minutes of you two playing together, and I already know listeners will eat you up. You’ll have legions of fans, which, fortunate for you and our bottom line, means lots of money.”

Again with this so-called chemistry. Plutarch’s wide, gleaming smile does nothing to make his words more palatable, and Katniss gnashes her molars together to quell the twisting in her stomach. She can sense the rigidness of every muscle fiber in Peeta’s body beside her, even two feet away. From the corner of her eye, he looks just as uncomfortable as she does, but he pushes his hand through his curls.

“Uh, forgive me, Mr. Heavensbee—Plutarch, but I feel it’s imperative you know that Katniss and I, we’ve only been playing together a week. Less than, even. We’ve only done two shows together, so I’m not entirely confident we’ll be—be able to capture that kind of, uh, chemistry again,” Peeta stumbles on the last part, eyes darting to her, and she stiffens but reaches for her braid to stroke out of habit. A calming mechanism. “We don’t even have a name.”

Plutarch just laughs. “Details. In fact, that you two performed so well together with such little practice is positively astounding.”

Katniss’ tongue itches, and her hands flop down into her lap. “We’re not together,” she interjects hastily, compelled to inform him and the rest. “I don’t know if Haymitch told you, but Peeta and I... _aren’t_. Not now, or in the future.”

But Plutarch is unfazed. In fact, he looks positively delighted. “Perfect. Do you know how many ventures are ruined once the relationships between band members implode? PR nightmares,” he bemoans, but the unaffected smile slips back into place. “No, this is ideal. Fans will go wild with speculation—you’ll fuel the theories, of course, on stage, but never quite giving them what they want. The real thing’s never as good as what they come up with in their heads, anyway.”

Her lip curls in an involuntary grimace, her line of sight dipping below the conference table as she picks at loose threads fraying the rip in her jeans at her knee. Oblivious to her unhappiness, Plutarch asks Fulvia to explain their game plan, and she jumps in.

“One of our acts, The Peacekeepers, is going on tour in four weeks for seven months. We want you to open for them. We think their target demographic is a perfect fit for you,” she says, her gaze jumping back and forth between Katniss and Peeta. “But we need to record an EP before that, so interested fans will have something to buy on tour. Which means you need to cut a record in three weeks. Are you in?”

Katniss’ eyes bulge slightly, and Peeta’s inhale is a sharp hiss through his teeth. Holy shit. An EP. A record. A tour. With a pretty popular group.

Her head is spinning. “Seriously?” she gasps because she can’t quite believe it.

“I assure you, it’s doable,” Fulvia asserts firmly, misunderstanding her question. Before she can stop herself, Katniss glances over at Peeta, who turns to meet her gaze. His eyes gleam with excitement and disbelief, a mirror to her own. Not even her previous frustration with having to work with him can stamp down the budding elation.

Peeta doesn’t say anything, but his expression levels the question at her. Like he’s waiting for her permission, for her acquiescence. He’s leaving it up to her.

Swallowing thickly, Katniss forces her attention back to Fulvia and Plutarch, annoyed with herself for even looking to Peeta for reassurance in the first place. Her tongue slides out to wet her dry lips, and she forces herself to stiffen her spine, to sit up straighter and push her shoulders back.

“Okay. So, how do we do this? When do we get started?”

Plutarch grins. “Wonderful. Now, we should discuss my favorite part of the process: how we’ll all be getting paid.”

* * *

Her brain is mush, like a glob of uselessness sitting between her ears by the time she and Peeta exit the conference room, effectively dismissed after they both signed an ungodly amount of paperwork and shook everyone’s hands. It had been a parade of lawyers and legal jargon for more than an hour in there, and Katniss is embarrassed she still doesn’t fully comprehend all the stipulations she agreed to in their contract. She’s kicking herself for not having thought to bring a lawyer or maybe even a law school friend, but when Peeta asked if they should run any of this by a legal representative first, Plutarch insisted it was all above board, just a standard contract all their acts sign.

As if Peeta and Katniss would know anything about that.

Overwhelmed, ecstatic, scared—all to the point of hysterical—Katniss scurries down the hallway to the lobby and the tall glass doors they entered through earlier. Outside, on the busy streets of New York City, waits the sleek, black town car that brought them there from the airport, ready to take them back there now for the flight home.

“Katniss, wait,” Peeta calls after her. The sound of his voice, the squeaks of his shoes on the tiles just aggravate her already fraught nerves, so she ignores him and hastens to the entrance. “Wait a minute, can we talk about this?”

She just locks her knees to lengthen her strides, pumping her thighs until she’s nearly running out the entrance onto the sidewalk. But Peeta catches up to her as she slows to weave through the ripple of bodies. She spots the car, the driver perched on the hood as he languidly smokes a cigarette. Katniss flashes him a tight smile, but Peeta’s fingers loop around her wrist before she can reach for the car door, spinning her around to face him.

“Hey!” She yanks her arm from his grasp, the contact making her jump. He holds his hands up in defense, but his mouth curves in a gnarled frown.

“Look, we’re going to be working together for—fuck, we just signed our lives away, basically. Can we learn to work together in peace? Can’t we try to be friends?” he begs.

She shakes her head resolutely. “We’re not friends, Peeta. We’re just business partners, that’s it. I don’t like you, okay? I’m never going to like you, so just stop,” she says, raising her voice over the cacophony of shouts and obscenities and car horns and squealing brakes. She really needs to get out of here. Get to a quiet place where she can fall apart, alone.

Incredulity stretches Peeta's expression, his brow bunching together. “How can you say you’re never going to like me? We seemed to get along pretty damn well before I told you I had a girlfriend!” he accuses, and his reminder slaps the humiliation back into her cheeks. “Are you just going to act like that didn’t happen?”

The lump in her throat is hard to work past, but it gives her enough time to plaster a false, grotesque smile on her face. “Yeah. I am. I’m a pretty good actor. See? I’m smiling at you even though I want to slap you.”

Something cold hardens his eyes like concrete, and his face settles into one of simmering indignation and resignation. It squeezes a hard fist around her heart. This is the first time she’s seen him direct any sort of anger her way. It makes her uneasy, makes her blood run cold.

His spine goes rigid, and he suddenly seems to loom over her. “Fine. We’ll do it your way, Katniss,” Peeta grits out, reaching around her to tug roughly on the car door handle, swinging it open. Then he smirks coolly at her. The expression is obscene on his normally kind, beautiful features.

“After you, _sweetheart_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk to me on tumblr! I'm muttpeeta.


	4. Chapter 3

“Y’all are in room 1137,” Haymitch says, shoving keycards at Katniss and Peeta, who are waiting for him at the hotel elevator bank with their duffel bags, guitar cases and other luggage.

Katniss’ eyes narrow, flicking between Haymitch’s face and the keycard in her hand. “What do you mean, _y’all_?”

“Y’all means you all. It’s a contraction of a pronoun used to refer to more than one person. In this case, you two,” he deadpans, slapping the button for the elevator as he adjusts the bag on his shoulder. At her scowl, he rolls his eyes. “ _Y’all_ are sharing a room. 1137.”

This time, her eyes bulge in alarm. “What? No way, I want my own room! I’m not sharing with him!” she says, waving a hand toward Peeta. He’s just watching the descent of the elevator, tapping his keycard in his palm.

“Doesn’t work that way, sweetheart. It’s pretty common for band members to share hotel rooms. Cost effective. And one room for the two of you is all Plutarch’s allotted for in the budget,” Haymitch explains. “Just be glad he didn’t put us all three in the same room. God knows I am.”

Katniss blinks, her mind racing faster than her mouth as she searches for a way out of this arrangement. The elevator dings its arrival. “But—but—I’m really not comfortable sharing a room with a guy, Haymitch.”

At this, Peeta scoffs. “Don’t worry, Katniss. Your womanly virtue will be safe with me.”

She glares at him, but he just gives her the back of his head as he steps into the elevator once the doors have slid open. With a huff, she bends over to snatch up her bags and hauls them onto the elevator, squeezing in between Peeta and Haymitch. “And you’re okay with this?” she demands.

Peeta shrugs. “Not really, but I’ve already dealt with the futility of objecting. Haymitch told me while you were passed out in the van.”

Her mouth pinches together. They just spent six hours in a small van together as Haymitch drove them to their first show with The Peacekeepers in Pittsburgh. Uninterested in the idea of forcing conversation with either of them for that long, Katniss had slipped in her ear buds, turned her music on, and proceeded to sleep and ignore them until Haymitch was smacking her knee to wake her up in the hotel parking lot.

“Well, what about your girlfriend?” she flings the accusation at him. “She cool with you bunking with another woman?”

She thinks she sees doubt flicker in his eyes, but he just shrugs again, and like that, the look is gone. “She’s not worried about you at all, Katniss,” he says. He actually has the nerve to sound bored. Her top teeth saw against her bottom lip, trapping the litany of crude insults she wants to spew at him.

Instead, she turns to plead her case to Haymitch. “Why can’t he share a room with you? You’re both guys.”

Their manager just smirks, watching the two of them with barely restrained amusement. “Sorry, sweetheart. My room only has one bed. Your room has two. Just look at is as a bonding experience. The closeness and proximity can only help your relationship on stage.”

“If I don’t kill him first,” Katniss snarls under her breath, trying to squeeze through the doors before they’ve even fully opened to deposit them on their floor.

“Soundcheck’s at 6, so meet me in the lobby at 5:30. If you need me, I’ll be in room 1168,” Haymitch calls over his shoulder, already walking down the hallway. “Or most likely at the bar downstairs.”

Katniss follows Peeta in the opposite direction to their room, wanting to beat him there. The weight of her bags slows her down, though, and his strides are longer, so he’s already swiping his keycard through the lock before she can, flinging the door open. He at least holds it open with his heel so she can drag her stuff inside, but he crosses through the room to the queen-sized bed closest to the balcony.

“Dibs,” he says, tossing his duffel bag on the mattress to stake his claim.

She huffs at him, pulling the straps of her bags over her head so she can drop them on the other bed, closest to the door. “Why do you get first pick?”

Setting his guitar case in an armchair in the corner, he gives her a plain grin. “That’s what calling dibs means,” he explains, like she’s the dumbest person in the world. What is _with_ these two condescending assholes today? “I like to sleep with the windows open. This way I can crack the patio door and feel the breeze.”

“Well, then, I hope you’re a sleepwalker,” she says with false brightness as she props her own guitar case against the wall alongside her keyboard.

Peeta’s lips twitch, but he keeps his smile in place. “At least this way, you’re closer to the bathroom and can get in there before me. Don’t girls always hog the bathroom in the mornings?”

She scowls at him. He probably spends more time in front of the mirror than she does, styling those perfect curls, practicing that killer smile. Measuring the depth of his dimples.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and moves toward the patio, sliding the door open. “I’m gonna call my girlfriend to let her know we’ve arrived safely,” he says as he steps outside. She’s sure he says it just for her benefit. Just to annoy her.

His girlfriend. The blonde, leggy, model-esque business school student, Glimmer Strickland. Katniss finally met her a couple nights ago at the going-away party at The Mine thrown for them by friends, to celebrate their success and to send them off for the next seven months on tour. Even Madge and Gale, who’d moved away weeks ago, had flown back for the party.

Of course, Glimmer is gorgeous, with her golden, creamy skin, voluminous blonde hair, large green eyes, and a pink, perfectly symmetrical mouth. Katniss hadn’t expected a troll by any means—that would have been asking the universe for too much mercy, she knows—but looking at her at the bar, perched on Peeta’s lap, laughter tinkling as she ran her fingers through his hair, hurt.

She just felt stupid, stupid for thinking Peeta had ever been actually flirting with her, for thinking he was actually attracted to her. It had just been an act on his part. A lie. _Glimmer_ was the kind of woman he was attracted to. Not Katniss, with her plain black hair, colorless gray eyes, and a mouth more suited for scowling than pouting seductively.

She wants to hate Glimmer, but Glimmer’s perfectly nice. Perfectly...tolerable. Which was surprising to Katniss (annoying, actually). She’d tried to avoid them at the going-away party, to mainly stick around the few people she knew, but unfortunately Katniss had run into Glimmer at the bar, completely unprepared for any conversation with the other woman.

_“Hey, congratulations.”_

_Katniss’s trying to flag the bartender down, and the voice surprises her. When she looks over at Glimmer beside her, dread immediately fills her stomach. She hopes the small smile she manages doesn’t read as a grimace. Glimmer is smiling at her, all perfect teeth._

_“Thanks,” Katniss says, hoping that will be the end of the conversation, informing the bartender of her drink choice, but Glimmer isn’t done talking._

_“I’m Glimmer, by the way,” she introduces officially, sticking her hand out. “Peeta’s girlfriend.”_

_Is she imagining it, or does Glimmer emphasize the title just a little too heavily? Katniss shakes her hand anyway, still smiling even though it feels weird on her face._

_“Nice to meet you,” Katniss says politely._

_“Excited for the tour?” she asks conversationally after giving the bartender her drink order too. Katniss sighs inwardly._

_“Definitely,” she says, trying to force some lightness or excitement into her voice._

_“Peeta is, like, so excited,” Glimmer gushes, and she flips her hair over her shoulder like she's in a shampoo commercial. “He’s been talking about it nonstop for the last month.”_

_Katniss’ breath catches. She can only imagine the things he’s told her. She starts to panic. Has he told her what a bitch Katniss is? Did he tell Glimmer about how Katniss tried to sleep with him? Did they have a good laugh about it? “Oh,” she manages to breathe out, but Glimmer’s face reveals nothing. There’s no smugness, no suspicion. “It’s...been surreal.”_

_Glimmer laughs. “Tell me about it. It’s all happening so fast! I hate that I’m starting business school this fall. I wish I could join him on tour, but my course load’s going to be a nightmare.” Her gaze drifts over to Peeta, and she pouts faintly. Katniss has no appropriate response to that. This might be the most uncomfortable conversation of her life._

_“I had no idea this would ever get this big,” Glimmer continues, turning back to Katniss. “I mean, he said your music was really good, but who can ever predict these things, you know? It’s all kind of a crapshoot.” She laughs, and Katniss tries not to bristle. Is that a dig at her? Like she couldn’t possibly be talented enough to get a record deal, to be recognized?_

_Then again, Katniss could hardly believe it herself when it happened, right? She tries to tell herself she's just being unreasonable, looking for a reason to hate this woman across from her._

_Glimmer’s expression is guileless, and she just keeps talking, oblivious to the clouds that have settled in Katniss’ eyes. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Peeta just has this charisma, you know?”_

_“Yeah,” Katniss replies. Her tone is more sour than she anticipates, but now the implication that Peeta’s the sole reason for their success grates on her. She stiffly nods her thanks at the bartender when he hands her a gin and tonic._

_“When he’s performing, you can’t help but watch him,” Glimmer says, and she smiles when she takes her drink too. Katniss realizes she’s not going to be able to exit this conversation just yet. Glimmer flashes Katniss a secretive grin, swirling the black straw in her cocktail drink. “When I first met him last year, I was dating someone else. One of his friends—not a close one or anything, just an acquaintance, really. They moved in the same circle, that's all. It wasn't a serious thing with that guy, I swear I’m not that terrible,” she laughs deflectively, and there’s even a hint of embarrassment in her laugh. Katniss’ smile is less than pleasant this time, but Glimmer doesn’t notice._

_“But every time I saw Peeta, I just wanted to be near him, you know? I just wanted to talk to him all the time. I didn’t even think he liked me, but—” she winks, “guess he couldn’t resist my charms.”_

_Poaching his friends’—_ acquaintances'— _girlfriends. Standup guy, really. Katniss fights the overwhelming urge to roll her eyes. Well, as far as she can tell, these two deserve each other. She’s definitely done with this conversation._

_“Yeah.” Her smile is tight. “It was nice meeting you, Glimmer. I need to find my friends before they have to leave. I’m sure I’ll see you around, though.”_

Katniss knows it’s petty and unfair to dislike Glimmer simply for being Peeta’s girlfriend. Glimmer hasn’t done anything wrong; the only person who deserves Katniss’ scorn is Peeta.

And she’s given it to him in spades in the past month. Recording an EP was hellish, being forced into confinement in a recording booth for hours on end with Peeta. Katniss was rude and bitchy and stubborn, adamant about recording her songs the way she wanted them to sound. The record company left it up to them what songs they wanted to record, as long as they had five or six for the label to choose from. Peeta was largely deferential to her opinion when it came to the songs, seeing as she had penned them, but she resisted any suggestions he made until the producer would force her hand.

Which only further stoked her animosity, fueling an unending cycle of back-and-forth until he’d finally snapped. Up until that point he had mostly tolerated her hostility, remained indifferent and professional in the studio.

_“It’s supposed to be in minor key, Peeta!” she snaps at him in the booth, halting the recording of the first stanza of “The Hanging Tree” for the third time. “It’s melancholy and haunting, and you’re playing it in major like it’s a fucking jamboree!”_

_“Well, you’re a major fucking pain in my ass, Everdeen!” he yells back._

_“Maybe if you learned how to read sheet music, this wouldn’t be a problem!” she argues. His face turns dark as he glowers at her, and she almost apologizes, shame over the nasty, below-the-belt insult rippling the words to the tip of her tongue, but she chokes them back defiantly._

_He just shoves the capacitor mic away from his acoustic guitar and storms out of the booth. “I need five,” he growls at the producer, who’s already dropped his head into his hands._

When Peeta came back, he wasn’t angry, but that had been the beginning of their mutually antagonistic relationship: he’s not afraid to make fun of her now, biting back with underhanded comments, riling her up. And he does it all with a smile on his face like it gives him the greatest pleasure.

It’s easier this way. Being mad at him keeps her from dwelling on her embarrassment. The hurt. Most of the time she even forgets the real reason she’s upset with him, he does such a good job of making her hate him for so many other reasons.

With a ragged sigh, Katniss plops down on the foot of her bed. The sound of Peeta’s voice as he talks to Glimmer wafts in from the balcony through the crack in the glass door. She wonders what the hell she’s supposed to do for the next four hours. The thought of spending an afternoon with Peeta alone in their hotel room makes her chest tighten with anxiety, so she hastily climbs back up to her feet and shoves her keycard in her back pocket, striding toward the door. She’s got a few hours to kill, so she might as well take in the city. They’re leaving first thing in the morning, on to the next one, and she might not get another chance to see Pittsburgh.

* * *

Not for the first time since signing the contract with District Thirteen Records, Katniss wishes it were Gale at her side in this band, not Peeta. Actually being friends with her bandmate would make aspects of the next seven months more enjoyable. Like exploring the cities on their stops. All she and Peeta will be doing for the entirety of the tour is trying to avoid each other, if she can help it, anyway.

So she walks alone along the Monongahela and Allegheny rivers, soaks up the sun in the Point, snapping pictures and texting them to Prim, who’s thousands of miles away at college. She’s probably in class, so her sister’s responses are delayed, and by the time she hears back from Prim, Katniss has already wandered into a bar downtown for a drink.

She’s worked up a sweat in the late summer air, so around 5 she heads back to the hotel so she has enough time to shower and get ready for soundcheck.

Unlocking the hotel room door, Katniss shoulders it open and nearly runs into Peeta as he’s exiting the bathroom. With only a towel wrapped around his waist.

They both freeze, startled by the appearance of the other, but Peeta stirs when the hotel door clicks back into place. “Where did you go?” he asks, almost accusingly. His hand tightens around the corner of his towel tucked in at his waist.

Her eyes burn with the effort to not ogle his bare chest, but even in the edge of her vision she can make out the firm planes of his pectoral muscles, his abdominals. The dusting of light blond hair that sprouts across his chest, darkening into a pale brown the lower the trail cuts down his middle, around his belly button, lower still—

And this is why she didn’t want to share a room with him.

 _No!_ Her mind screams defensively. No, she doesn’t want to share a room with him because she hates him.

“I walked around the city,” she says. She means for her voice to be hard, steely, but she sounds weak. Worse, she sounds _breathless_. His hair is damp, dark and curled with water. “What did you do?”

He looks around him, at the bathroom, the rest of the hotel room. “Had a drink with Haymitch downstairs. Then I took a shower.”

She’s not even sure she hears him, distracted by a glob of water that breaks free from his ear lobe and drips onto his shoulder, skimming down his chest haphazardly until it gets entangled in his hair. Something traitorous swirls low in her belly. Realizing her will power has broken and she’s now openly leering at his chest, she snaps her eyes to his face and narrows them in a glare. “I don’t care what you do,” she barks, a reflexive response.

His eyebrows shoot up, surprised by her outburst, but then his expression settles into an indifferent one, and he shrugs past her. “Then don’t ask, sweetheart,” he says, still clutching his towel tightly as he digs through his duffel bag for a change of clothes.

Flustered, and annoyed, Katniss snatches one of her bags off her bed and stalks back to the bathroom. “Stay out here. I’m taking a shower,” she orders, ignoring his shrug when she slams the bathroom door shut. The duffel bag thuds to the tiled floor, and she just prays she managed to grab the one with her clothes in it.

* * *

She doesn’t have time to dry her hair after her shower, so she plaits it into a hurried side braid and applies a minimal amount of makeup—blush, eyeliner, mascara—so the stage lights don’t wash her out completely.

When she emerges from the bathroom, Peeta’s leaning against the wall waiting for her, his guitar case slung over his shoulder. He thrusts her messenger bag toward her. “Let’s go, princess. Your beauty regimen cost us 20 minutes, and it’s 5:25 right now.”

Frowning, Katniss bends over to grab her boots strewn haphazardly across the bathroom floor and shoves her feet into them. She snatches her purse from him. “In the future, don’t touch my shit again,” she says, flinging the hotel door open.

He follows her out into the hall. “In the future, don’t take half an hour to shower when you know we’ve got to be at soundcheck.”

She throws him a narrowed-eye look over her shoulder as the door clicks shut behind them. “A minute ago, you said it was only 20 minutes.” She sounds petulant, but it’s the best she can come up with in response.

He shrugs and slaps the down button once they reach the elevator. “I rounded up.” Katniss rolls her eyes and goes mute inside the elevator, silently watching the numbers tick by as they descend to the bottom floor.

Surprisingly, Haymitch is there when the doors slide open, studying his watch. “You’re late,” he drawls, and Katniss grabs his wrist and twists his watch face around to look at.

“By a minute,” she huffs, and his whiskered jowls pull down into a disapproving sneer.

“This is show business, sweetheart. A minute can mean a lifetime. Now move it,” he barks, marching them out the front entrance. They load into their van, and Haymitch slides into the driver’s seat to drive them the 10 minutes to the venue. Katniss stares out the passenger window, ignoring the inane chatter between the two of them, but as they get closer to their destination, her nerves start to kick in. Just a mild buzz in her stomach, tightening her guts and spreading to her chest, making her leg bounce rhythmically.

By the time they reach the venue, she’s pulling her still-wet braid between her fingers and gnawing at her bottom lip. Peeta shoots her a look as he walks past her but says nothing, just rolls his shoulders back and holds the back door open for her and Haymitch. She hates that he knows she’s nervous, knows even this little facet of her life; she hates that she’d opened up to him in any way when she first met him.

She’s sure he’s secretly loving watching her squirm right now.

Forcing a deep breath, Katniss lowers her hands and balls them at her sides as she follows Haymitch through the backstage area, around the labyrinth of equipment and crew unloading and slugging boxes around. She can do this. Or at least she’s going to put on a damn good show of pretending she can do this.

The internal pep talk does the trick of momentarily easing her anxiety, and she almost misses when Haymitch directs them into a side room backstage where the four bandmembers of The Peacekeepers are lounging.

“Gentlemen, put your dicks away,” Haymitch announces loudly, propping the door open. “There’s a lady in our presence.”

Laughter cuts off abruptly, and four pairs of eyes swivel in her direction. Katniss isn’t one to get star-struck normally, but she’s suddenly very aware that she’s got the attention of four very attractive, famous men. Her tongue is stuck to the roof of her mouth, her wide-eyed gaze sweeping around the room.

“Oh, there certainly is,” the copper-haired one says— _purrs_ —as he hops off the couch and saunters toward her.

There. _That_. That does it. Her slack-jawed expression disintegrates instantly, and a scowl slips into its place instead. She knows him on sight, of course, Finnick Odair, but when he curls a grin at her, tipping his chin in greeting, she just raises an eyebrow.

“What’s your name, beautiful?” he asks, eyes drinking her in curiously.

“Katniss. And you are?” she says pointedly, even though she’s well aware of who he is.

But Finnick just grins wider, something in his expression shifting, and his eyes dart over to Haymitch. “I’m going to like her, I can already tell.”

Katniss manages to continue to look indifferent, despite the blush fighting to the surface of the capillaries in her face under all this obscene attention. Finnick then looks over her shoulder at Peeta, and his grin morphs into a more subdued but friendlier smile.

“Finnick Odair,” he greets, and he and Peeta do that manly handshake exchange all boys somehow learn how to do by the age of 14.

“Peeta. Nice to meet you.”

“These two are your opening act, The Victors. It’s their first tour, so be nice,” Haymitch orders, “Or don’t, I don’t care. Just try to stay alive.” Then he wanders out of the room, nose buried in his phone.

Katniss watches him go, but then her eyes shift over to Finnick, who folds his arms over his chest. His perfect mouth is curled just slightly, as he looks between her and Peeta. “So, I’m afraid I know nothing about The Victors or your music.”

“We only learned ourselves about a month ago,” Peeta says wryly, ducking his head through the strap of his guitar so he can set it down. Plutarch came up with the name, said it sounded mysterious and boastful enough to invite interest. Katniss thought it sounded a little pretentious and self-congratulatory, but she ultimately didn’t care what they called themselves.

Finnick eyes Katniss again, and she manages not to squirm. He smiles.

“So, are you two…?” He gestures between them suggestively, raising his eyebrows, and Katniss bristles, heat surging up the back of her neck.

“No,” she grinds out. As if he refuses to take just her word for it, Finnick glances at Peeta for confirmation, and he rolls his eyes.

“Definitely not,” he says, and maybe he means it to mock her, but his tone sounds biting to her ears. She scowls.

Finnick chuckles. “Man, did someone just turn on the heat in here?” he jokes, and Katniss wheels away from him, fed up.

But another Peacekeeper is in her face now, a blond, towering hulk of a man, who leers at her. And she thought _Finnick_ made her skin crawl. This guy’s smirk makes her want to _peel_ her skin off.

“Hey,” he says brusquely. “Cato.”

She reluctantly shakes his hand when he practically jams his hand into her stomach. “Hi,” she says politely, though she can’t muster up enough of a smile.

It doesn’t stop him from grinning at her. “Nice to have a chick around here. Finally something pretty to look at.”

His remark turns her stomach to fiery lava. She just keeps her face hard. “Finnick not doing it for you?” she says, but Cato apparently has no taste for humor. His lip curls slightly, and then he turns away, like he’s suddenly lost interest in her.

The night’s only blessing so far.

Thankfully, the remaining two bandmates approach her to introduce themselves. Thresh, the drummer, is even bigger than Cato, and he would look more imposing if his soft smile didn’t turn him into a total teddybear. Darius, who plays the guitar alongside their frontman Finnick, is warm and friendly, his red hair practically glowing like fire under the fluorescent lights.

“Don’t wig out if Finnick comes on a little too strong,” he tells her conspiratorially. “It’s just part of his shtick. The flirty playboy. Every band has to have one.”

Katniss snorts, her eyes sliding to Cato, who’s moved on to chat with Peeta. “And The Hulk over there? What’s his role?”

“The asshole,” Darius answers seriously, but his blue eyes dance. “That’s not really an act though.”

This time, Katniss smiles. It feels like the first genuine smile she’s had in a while. “Noted.” She eyes him. He’s pretty cute, has an easy air about him. “And what about you?”

His grin widens. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m the lovable one,” he boasts, but his voice is more self-deprecating than arrogant, and she hums in amusement.

At that, Darius bumps her arm with his elbow, angling his head in the direction of two long tables, covered in an assortment of food. Underneath, she sees coolers of water and beer. “You hungry?” he asks, and she nods, fully aware she hasn’t eaten since breakfast this morning. Her nerves have kept her hunger at bay, at least, but it’s probably a terrible idea to hit the stage for her first big-time gig on an empty stomach. “Help yourself. We’ve got anything you could want. And if not, just let me know, and I’ll add it to our rider for you.”

She looks up at him as he leads her to the food, caught off guard by his generosity. “Oh. Thank you.”

He just smiles and hands her a plate, grabbing one for himself as well. Katniss’ gaze slides over toward Peeta, who’s watching them stony-faced, but his eyes flick away as soon as she looks over, back to Finnick and Cato. Haymitch returns then, crossing his arms over his chest as he narrows his eyes at her.

“What?” she asks defensively, glancing quickly at Darius when he dumps a spoonful of macaroni and cheese on her plate. Haymitch just shakes his head.

“You’ve got 5 minutes to scarf that down, then I need you and Peeta on stage.”

* * *

As much as the thought of aggravating Haymitch amuses her, Katniss does exactly as he demands, barely tasting the food she shoves into her mouth. She passes on the beer and sips on water, already worried the food is going to lead to an embarrassing case of indigestion while she’s on stage. She should have waited till after soundcheck to eat.

Especially because as soon as she’s standing on that stage, staring out across the expanse of the venue, that food is sitting heavy in her stomach.

This place is much, much bigger than The Mine, or any bar back home. She thinks about asking Haymitch, who’s down in front of the stage to watch and bark orders at them, just how many people this venue fits, but she thinks that’ll just rattle her even more. Effie’s here now, standing right next to Haymitch, and she holds her phone up to snap pics of Katniss and Peeta during soundcheck. As their booking agent, she’s also in charge of running their social media accounts: Facebook, Twitter, Instagram. Katniss is grateful because she doesn’t know the first thing about promoting herself, or their band, on social media. Not without pissing people off, she’s sure.

“Can we drop the lights a little?” Haymitch yells at some poor unseen lights person, agitated. “God, is there anyone competent around here?”

While she waits, Katniss rubs her hand back and forth over her forehead, running through their setlist in her head. Luckily, someone’s taped a sheet of paper with the order of songs they’re to play on the ground at the edge of the stage, right in front of their stools. She never worried about forgetting her own music before, but it’s entirely possible, faced with such a large crowd and such a crucial moment in her career—the first show on tour—her mind could go completely blank.

Peeta lounges on his stool beside her, drumming his fingers on his thigh. That’s the only sign of anxiety she can gauge from him, though it might just be out of boredom. Otherwise, he looks completely calm. It’s actually pretty infuriating.

Her nervous energy gets the best of her, and she stifles a burp behind her hand, the gas bubble creeping up her throat swiftly. "God," she mutters to herself and yanks the elastic out of her hair to unthread her braid, combing out the still damp waves. She rakes a hand across her crown, tousling the dark tresses, and she inadvertently makes eye contact with Peeta when she twists in her stool.

“What?” she asks. He shakes his head and clears his throat.

“You never wear your hair down on stage,” he says, and she narrows her eyes in confusion, trying to figure out his point. He senses her stare and looks back at her. His lips pull into a smile, and he shrugs. “Just wondering if that’s going to throw off your game, that’s all. You already look like you might puke. Maybe you shouldn’t tempt fate on the night of our first show.”

“Ugh.” She rolls her eyes, and directs her scowl to the front of the stage. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder, reaching out to adjust her mic stand. And she would—she has to be now, because she won’t give Peeta the satisfaction of seeing her unravel on stage. She wants to get a dig in at him too. “Maybe you should stop watching me so much. Really, it’s creepy.”

Peeta just makes a sound in the back of his throat, but it sounds more amused than anything. She ignores him, lifting her head in attention when Haymitch claps his hands together, seemingly satisfied with the lighting, for now.

“Okay, now for you two,” he orders and dives right into the game plan. They’d already rehearsed many times the week before they left for tour, but Katniss listens studiously, following Haymitch’s directions, even Effie’s unsolicited suggestions.

She and Peeta run through their set, play the five songs from their EP, but there’s something not quite clicking this time. And Katniss knows it’s her because Peeta plays exactly as he always does. But she just can’t relax, can’t ease into the music the way she normally can.

Playing for one particularly disgruntled manager in an empty venue might just be more disconcerting than playing to a crowd, she thinks.

Especially when that particularly disgruntled manager is glowering at her as she and Peeta finish the last of their set.

The silence stretches on, the backstage voices and shouts from crew the only sound.

Finally, Haymitch heaves a displeased sigh and shakes his head. “I don’t know what the fuck that was, but that’s definitely not what Plutarch signed.”

She knows he’s right, but Katniss is on the defensive, regardless. Frustrated, she rips her ear piece out. “What does it matter? The music is the same, and if the music is good—”

“Good music ain’t enough, sweetheart. Your sour face doesn’t help, and you’ve got as much charm as a dead slug,” Haymitch spits. Katniss’ face burns in humiliation. Even Effie looks affronted. Katniss refuses to look at Peeta. “The _appeal_ is you two, together. Whatever it is, find it. And bring it to the stage tonight.” He waves a hand dismissively. “Now get out of my face. I can’t even look at you two right now.”

It takes everything in her not to send her stool flying across the stage as she exits left. She can hear Peeta and Haymitch arguing behind her, but she doesn’t stay to listen, nearly colliding with a crew member in her hasty retreat.

She makes her way to the back room where Haymitch had led them to earlier, where The Peacekeepers are getting ready for their soundcheck next. Finnick bounces on the balls of his feet, loosening his shoulders and arms as he runs through vocal exercises. Darius and Cato are tuning their respective guitars, and Thresh lounges on the couch, spinning his drumsticks around his fingers.

Whipping her phone out of her back pocket, Katniss flops down on the couch beside him and pulls up her text thread with Prim, needing to rant to someone, specifically someone she _knows_. Thankfully, Thresh doesn’t try to engage her in conversation, though considering he’s barely said a word since she’s met him, it’s probably more for his benefit than hers.

_I can’t do this Prim._

Her sister’s response is almost immediate: _Yes you can! You were born to do this!_

 **Katniss E [sent Thurs, 6:59 p.m.]:** _Haymitch said we were awful._

 **Prim E [sent Thurs, 7:00 p.m.]:** _He’s your manager! That’s probably what he’s paid to tell you! I bet he’s just riding you hard so you’ll prove him wrong and sing even BETTER! I know you don’t shy away from a challenge :)_

Katniss sighs as she reads her sister’s text. No, she knows Haymitch was telling the truth. Still, she feels a microscopic bit better. She does like a challenge. She _does_ want to prove herself. _Thanks for the vote of confidence sis._

 **Prim E [sent Thurs, 7:02 p.m.]:** _It’s just the truth :) I wish I could be there tonight to watch! But I’m looking forward to seeing you in October!!_

They have a show in California in October, near where Prim goes to school. Katniss is looking forward to spending some time with her little sister, bringing her to their show.

As long as Haymitch doesn’t kick them off the tour before that point for sucking so much.

 **Katniss E [sent Thurs, 7:03 p.m.]:** _Me too. Love you little duck._

“I thought you guys sounded great out there.” Katniss looks up from her phone at Darius, who smiles at her. “Haymitch is a dickhead. He’s always a bigger dickhead right before showtime. So I wouldn’t take anything he says personally.”

She forces a small smile. “Thanks.”

With a farewell nod, Darius walks out of the room to join his other bandmates on stage for soundcheck. Peeta appears then, his expression mirroring how she feels.

God, she really can’t handle him right now. But he doesn’t say anything to her, just heads for the cooler and pulls out a beer, which he pops open and begins guzzling immediately. This aggravates her for some reason.

“Yeah, getting drunk is really going to help us on stage,” she snaps at him.

He pulls the beer can away to level a disbelieving glare at her. “You’re right. The entirety of the human race hasn’t been using alcohol as a inhibitor releaser for centuries at all,” he says, his voice lofty and mocking. She crosses her arms and legs, looking away.

Why does he piss her off so much? Why does she always feel goaded into arguing with him? She didn’t even want to talk to him five seconds ago!

“You could stand to loosen up,” Peeta adds, and she rolls her eyes.

“Thanks for the advice.”

She just finds her bag behind the couch and pulls out her earbuds, popping them into her ears and plugging the other end into her iPhone. Scrolling through her music, she selects her usual pre-performance playlist and closes her eyes, leaning her head back on the couch.

Effectively blocking him out for the next hour until soundcheck is done.

* * *

It’s only a few minutes before show time, and Katniss is frozen at the edge of the stage, observing the crowd from behind the curtain. The venue is filled to capacity, from what Effie told her, who gleefully informed her of just how many bodies that meant.

That’s 700 people gathered in one room to hear her play. To hear her music. To either love her or hate her.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she exhales, gnawing the skin right off her lip.

“Ready?”

Peeta’s voice at her side jars her, and she gives a start, glancing over at him. She’s so nervous, she completely forgets to raise her defenses in his presence.

“No,” she answers honestly, her gaze drifting back to the crowd just beyond the stage.

Peeta’s quiet for a moment as he stares at her. “Hey,” he says to get her attention, and when she looks back at him, she’s surprised by the softness there. It’s been completely absent the past month. He moves closer so he can speak to her more earnestly. “Look, irrespective of how we feel about each other, you’re a phenomenal musician. And performer. Forget what Haymitch says. Forget that you hate me for the next 30 minutes. When we’re out there, just look at me. Don’t think. Just sing. You have to trust I won’t let you down out there. We’re a team. Okay?”

She wasn’t expecting such an impassioned speech, and she’s momentarily stunned. All she can focus on is the earnestness in his blue eyes, the plea in their depths. Finally, she nods. And with that, the tension uncoils in her stomach, leaving her a little lighter. A little less worried. Once he’s reassured she agrees, he gives a brief nod too.

Katniss looks away again, staring unseeingly at the crowd. And, because she can’t quite help herself, she mutters, “Who uses the word ‘irrespective’ when they talk?”

Peeta shakes his head. “Just 30 minutes, Katniss. I have faith you can manage it.” Then he’s walking out on stage. She takes a steadying breath before she follows him out.

* * *

Hours later, Katniss is still riding the high from their first show. Her blood is pumping through her veins, her cheeks are flushed. She feels _alive._ She’s happy, and for the first time in a while, she’s wired with adrenaline, not anxiety.

Swigging her beer, she nearly snorts it back out when she laughs at something Darius says. She’s not even sure she really heard him over the music at the club they went to for their first celebratory after party, and it probably wasn’t even that funny, but she’s feeling good and amendable and even leans into the hand he places on her shoulder.

Peeta appears in front of her suddenly, holding out a shot glass for her. She’s even feeling amendable toward _him_ , their performance went that well. She did what he told her to do: she just sang. She hardly looked at anyone but him, not even the crowd, which quickly warmed up to them, and by the end of the set, she and Peeta had received a respectable amount of enthusiastic applause, even some screams and whistles. It had felt like the first time they’d performed together, that palpable current that sizzled and crackled between them. For that brief respite on stage, she’d forgotten why she was ever mad at him.

She doesn’t want to remember now, not when she feels so good. So she just grins at him and takes the shot from him. His mouth mirrors her own, and they clink their glasses together. “To the next seven months—may every night feel as good as this!” he yells, and she laughs before they both toss their shots back.

The liquor burns her throat, but the lingering taste on her tongue is good. They both make faces at each other as they swallow, but then they laugh. Peeta’s face is as flushed as hers feels, his blue eyes glittering in the dim lights.

Darius asks if she needs another drink, and she tells him she’s still working on her beer. When Darius heads for the bar, Peeta grabs her arm. “Have you met Annie yet? Finnick’s wife?”

Katniss shakes her head, surprised. She didn’t know Finnick’s married. Peeta pulls her through the crowd where Finnick is sitting with some of the crew and a petite brunette. He introduces them, and the small woman gets up to hug her.

“It’s so nice to have another woman around, finally!” Annie yells with a pleasant smile. “It tends to get so _dude_ on tour with all these guys.”

Katniss laughs. She’s so laugh-y tonight. “We’ll need to keep each other sane,” she agrees, deciding she already likes the other woman. She likes everyone tonight.

They end up dancing for a while, and Katniss isn’t even a dancer. Finnick joins them at one point, sandwiched between them. Cato, too, even though she’s not sure she likes him that much, but she doesn’t push him away when he grinds on her. Luckily, Peeta, Darius and Thresh save her, turning the dance into a group endeavor.

They dance until the club closes, and they all stumble back to the hotel for a little bit of sleep before they hit the road for their next show.

Most everyone gets off on the fifth floor, leaving Katniss and Peeta alone in the elevator as they ascend to their floor. She slumps against the wall, lightheaded from the alcohol.

“Where’s Haymitch and Effie?” she asks sleepily, her head lolling against the mirrored wall. She doesn’t remember seeing them leave the bar.

Peeta rubs at his eyes. “I think they came back here a while ago.”

She lifts her head up. “What? Effie has a room at this hotel? Why can’t I share with her then?”

He makes a face. “Uh. Well. I kind of got the vibe that they were sharing a room. You know. Together.”

She doesn’t understand. “But Haymitch said he only has one...oh.” Peeta nods, and her face twists in disgust. “Oh. Gross. Them. _Together_.” They get off on their floor when the elevator doors open, and Katniss sways slightly, following Peeta to their room. “ _Blech_. I kinda imagined Haymitch as a eunuch in my head.”

Peeta snorts, pulling his keycard out. “Might as well be. With as much alcohol as he drinks, I don’t know how he can even get it up.” She laughs at that, and he laughs too, swinging the door to their room open and holding it for her. When she passes him, he lifts his eyebrows suggestively. “Maybe Haymitch keeps her entertained in other ways.”

She groans loudly because the thought grosses her out. “Fuck off, why would you put that in my head?” she laughs and crawls onto her bed. With a chuckle, Peeta disappears into the bathroom for a couple minutes while she struggles to get her boots off before lying down. She really should shower; she smells like sweat and alcohol. But this bed feels so good now. She flattens out on the fluffy comforter, swinging her arms and legs out in a brief imitation of a snow angel.

Peeta comes back out and perches on the edge of his bed, tugging his shoes off. They’re quiet for a moment, Katniss blissfully drifting on a alcohol-fueled haze, until he speaks up. “Katniss.”

She doesn’t know why, but there’s something in his voice that puts her on edge. She looks at him, and though the wariness is heavy in his eyes, he attempts to smile. “Tonight was good. Fun.” He pauses. “We’re good together. We make a good team.”

She sits up suddenly, all her good-time feelings screeching to a halt like he’s just taken them, bundled them into a bag and slammed them upside a brick wall. She doesn’t want to talk about this. She was doing so well not thinking about the previous cause for the discord in their relationship.

He’s still talking, though, more urgently. “I think we can be friends. If we both just—”

“Forget what an asshole you are?” she interjects, and his face hardens at her words.

“If we _both_ just get the hell over ourselves,” he finishes.

Her temper flares, and she glares at him, scooting to the edge of her bed so she can stand up.

“I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m not the one with a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend.” Shit, she’s not sure she’s making any sense. That’s not what she meant to say. She can’t talk about this when she’s drunk. She can feel herself blushing, and it just irritates her more. Everything suddenly comes pouring out, the things she’s never given voice to, the things percolating just below the surface of rational thought that haven't quite solidified into accusations until just this moment. “You’re the one who humiliated me, who—who _used_ me, who flirted with me just to get into my band. Well, you got a record deal out of it, so congratulations. I don’t think I owe you anything more than that.”

He looks appalled. Aghast. There’s palpable pain in his eyes. His neck burns red, but then his mouth twists into a sneer. “Is that what you think? That’s what you really think of me? That I’m the type of person who would manipulate someone like that?”

“Well, that’s what happened, isn’t it?” she snaps. He doesn’t look like he could be any angrier at her.

“You really think that lowly of me? Jesus Christ,” he growls. “That’s fucked up. Actually, that’s just _cruel_ , Katniss.”

She feels momentarily chastised and wonders if she’s gone too far until she shakes her head, remembering everything that transpired between them, what he did. “ _I’m_ the cruel one?! After what you did?”

He snorts and shakes his head. “Forget it. You’re never going to change your mind about me. I get it, you don’t like me. Frankly, I don’t like you either at this point.”

She should have expected it, but still, his declaration is a slap to the face. She can't control the instinctive wince, tries not to let her lip tremble from the rush of emotions. The fact that he can hurt her just infuriates her, and she glares at him, pinching her lips together to prevent any visible quiver. But he ignores her, going through the motions of plugging his phone in to charge, of pulling his shirt over his head and yanking his socks off. With a huff, she turns away from him and frantically rifles through her bag for her pajamas. The silence between them is deafeningly loud, and she stalks to the bathroom and slams it shut behind her, wincing at how loud it echoes in the bathroom. She takes a hot shower, willing her heart to stop pounding, then brushes her teeth and changes clothes. When she finally emerges, the lights are off and Peeta’s in bed under his covers, his back to her.

She crawls into her bed and burrows under the sheets, turning away from him to face the wall. They only have four hours before they have to get up and hit the road, and she tries to will herself to sleep. But her eyes won’t shut, and they burn like she’s on the verge of tears. She refuses to blink, however, and she just stares at the wall for a while, listening to the silence between them. It takes a long time for his breathing to even out. She’s not sure who eventually falls asleep first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanna talk? I'm on tumblr as muttpeeta :)


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the delay in this update. I got sidetracked by Prompts in Panem. Thank you for reviewing and commenting on the last chapter--there were a lot of thoughtful and thought-provoking comments that I wanted to reply to but just didn't find the time, but I love hearing what you guys think! Thank you again.

_I’m thinking it over_   
_What if the way we started_   
_Made it ~~cursed~~ something cursed from the start_   
_What if it only gets colder_

Katniss’ hand stops moving across the notebook in her lap, and she stares at the words she’s written, tapping her pen tip on the paper futilely. It’s been awhile since she’s written a new song. A lot of the material she’s played at shows, and what they recorded recently, had been largely written when she’d been a teenager. She feels rusty now, the lyrics not flowing quite like they used to.

But maybe that’s because she’s trying to write a love song. Which is really not something she’s had experience writing before. She’s never been in love, so she's never written about it, not personally. Her dad would write love songs about her mother all the time, and Katniss helped. Kind of. Mostly with the melodies. But without an inspiration of her own, how could she even begin to write about love?

When Haymitch asked her and Peeta to write some love songs, she balked. Laughed, even. He was dead serious.

“If you want to milk this stage romance for all its worth, you need songs with a little more heat, sweetheart,” he’d said. Stage romance. Heat. Katniss had been mortified by his words, especially with Peeta at her side. He hadn’t objected, not the way Katniss had tried, but she could see the discomfort in his eyes too.

Katniss looks up from her notebook, her gaze sliding to the front seat of the van. Peeta’s sitting up there while Haymitch drives to their next show, and she watches his profile through the gap between the driver’s and passenger seats. He’s got one foot propped up on the dashboard, his arm draped over his knee as he punches away at his phone. Judging by the speed of his thumbs, he’s texting. Probably Glimmer.

She looks back down at her notebook of failed lyrics.

Since Katniss and Peeta’s confrontation in the hotel room, things have been worse than usual between them. She wondered a few times if she should apologize, but he would hardly give her the chance; anytime she felt the words creeping up her throat, tried to steel herself for the humiliation of apologizing, he would save her the trouble by pissing her off with some patronizing remark. Now, she saw no reason to apologize. If he's trying to level the playing field, to get her back, he's succeeded.

It’s a miracle they’ve managed to fake it through their last few performances. But for some reason, it’s very easy to leave all that animosity and baggage backstage. No one would suspect them of being anything but friends when they’re on stage.

Lovers, even.

_Katniss signs the EP a fan thrusts into her hand and then passes it to Peeta, who doesn’t even look up at her. But he smiles at the fan and asks for her name, of course scribbling a personalized message on the EP cover below Katniss’ signature._

_“So, um…” the girl begins nervously, twisting a lock of hair around her finger as her eyes dart between the two of them. “Are you two like...dating?”_

_Katniss and Peeta both freeze. It’s not that they haven’t been prepped for this exact question. Plutarch and Haymitch have been very adamant about getting their story straight. “You’re close, but not that close,” Haymitch reminds them constantly. “Be as intimate as possible on stage, short of fucking of course—this is a family show—but anytime someone asks you what you are, play coy. You’re just friends. But make them wonder.”_

_This is the first time they’ve been asked directly by a fan. And given how tense things have been between them the last week, the question is awkward. Painfully so. And Katniss doesn’t know how to answer, her gaze shifting to Peeta unwittingly, like she’s beseeching him to answer._

_He glances at her briefly then back to the girl, a readymade smile slipping into place. “No, we’re just good friends,” he answers, and he has a way of making the scripted response sound natural, sincere._

_Katniss doesn’t need to say more, but for some reason her mouth is opening before she can stop herself. “Very good friends,” she adds, staring right at him. He turns to look at her, surprise and alarm flashing in his eyes at her unexpected insistence. He’s not the only one who picks up on her emphasis. Katniss can practically hear the girl’s sharp inhale, even over the crowd of the venue._

_“Yes…” Peeta turns the word over slowly, and even though his eyes squint imperceptibly at her, he manages a smile. “Very good friends.”_

_The fan squeals behind her hand, and he just winks at her as he hands the EP back to her. She scurries away, and the next fan takes her place. After Peeta signs her CD, he leans toward Katniss and speaks lowly so only she can hear, his tone menacing, “You’re a piece of work, you know that?”_

_A ghost of a smirk flirts with her mouth before she wipes it away, greeting the fan with much more cheer this time._

With a rough exhale, Katniss crosses out the lyrics she’s written so far and tries again.

_~~Do you~~ Does she have what you want?_   
_Does she love like I love?_   
_Is she everything you need?_   
_Colder, you are ~~breaking~~ making me fall_   
_I am breaking_   
_Love hurts when it’s all you need_   
_And you’re breaking me_

“Ugh,” she mutters to herself and snaps the notebook shut, tossing it down onto the seat next to her. It’s crap. This is her fourth attempt at a love song, and she's hated everything. She doesn’t like how vulnerable it makes her feel.

Bending over her knees, she rifles through her messenger bag until she finds her phone. She has a few texts from Madge and Prim, wondering what state she’s in now and when their next show is. She shoots off replies to them both, but when they don’t respond right away, Katniss pulls out her headphones and hooks them up to her phone, wedging the buds into her ears. She settles back against the bench seat and loads up one of her playlists she’d made on the last long car ride between shows. It's a compilation of her favorite love songs.

If she can’t write a genuine love song of her own, maybe she can be inspired to fake it.

* * *

She must have dozed off because she’s woken up by the loud, jarring sound of the van’s side door slamming open.

“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty.”

Katniss blinks blearily at Peeta standing outside the van, his frame silhouetted in the amber street lights behind him. Her mouth immediately pulls into a scowl, and she sits up to stretch her back, yanking her headphones out. “Where are we?” she yawns.

“The hotel. Haymitch went inside to check us in and left us with the task of bringing in all the luggage.” Peeta’s voice is bland, his expression bored as he waits for her, but the notebook on the seat near him catches his eyes. “What’s this?” he asks, picking it up.

Her eyes fly open wider, and she lunges for her notebook, but the seat belt jerks her back. “That’s—don’t look at that!”

But he’s already flipping through it, squinting as he reads. “Lyrics?”

He looks back up at her, and her face burns. Unbuckling her seat belt, she leans over and snatches the notebook out of his hands. “God! Do you normally read people’s private stuff when they explicitly tell you not to?” she huffs, shoving it into her bag.

“Do you normally leave private stuff out in the open like that for people to read?” he asks rhetorically, then he shakes his head, a displeased frown etched into his face. “Shouldn’t we be writing the new songs together?”

Her cheeks are hot with embarrassment as she clambers out of the van, pushing past him. “I work better alone.”

“No shit,” he mutters, following her to the back of the van where she jerks the doors open. “But I think I should contribute. Lest you accuse me of riding your coattails again.”

There’s a bite to his words. Obviously, he’s still pissed about what she said to him the first night of the tour. She’s too groggy and disoriented for this kind of tête-à-tête with him right now. “Do you know how to write songs?” Her tone is disbelieving as she yanks her bags and guitar case out, precariously stuffing her portable keyboard under her arm. She doesn’t like to give Peeta the satisfaction of having to help her carry her stuff.

Not that he would offer at this point.

“I majored in creative writing,” he says testily, dragging his bags, guitar and Haymitch’s luggage out of the van. “I was also in a band before this, if you’ll recall. I think I know how to write a song.”

She slams one door shut with her hip, kicking the other one closed. “So write your own songs. I don’t care,” she says as she trudges toward the hotel lobby.

“Right, because you’d be completely willing to perform a song that I alone wrote.” He walks ahead of her, and she glowers at his back, struggling not to drop her keyboard.

He’s right, and she knows it. Maybe she’s being deliberately obstinate, but the idea of singing someone else’s song makes everything in her recoil. She never had this problem with Gale; he hated writing lyrics. And the idea of singing Peeta’s words specifically feels shameful. But the idea of trying to write a love song with him is even more horrifying.

Could she really sing a song that would basically be a love letter to his girlfriend? The thought makes her want to puke into her guitar case.

Haymitch hands them their key cards, and the three of them ride the elevator to their floor. They don’t have a show until tomorrow, so they’re left to their own devices for the night. Which normally entails them ignoring each other, Peeta reading or watching TV or having a drink with Haymitch and Katniss Face Timing with Prim on the balcony or hanging out with Annie and Finnick if they happen to be staying in the same hotel.

Sometimes they use the hotel gym, though never at the same time. Which is what Katniss is planning to do when they get into their room, desperate to pound out her frustrations on a treadmill, but Peeta beats her to the punch.

“I’m gonna work out,” he announces as he tosses his stuff down on the bed closest to the balcony, as if he can sense she’s about to say the same.

She purses her lips together in annoyance but swallows any retort, letting him go into the bathroom to change while she unpacks her stuff. When he comes back out a moment later, he’s wearing a pair of red mesh shorts and a fitted gray v-neck shirt that unfairly highlights his biceps and firm chest. She frowns to herself, refusing to look at him directly while she spends an unnecessary amount of time pulling her clothes out and refolding them. Peeta pulls his sneakers on and ties them, then he’s out the door without another word, and she sighs out loud, flopping down across her bed on her back.

She stares at the ceiling for a while, jiggling her feet over the edge of the mattress. Unconsciously, her feet start tapping out an aimless beat, and she closes her eyes. Exhales. Tries to unwrap the tangled vines of hapless thoughts and words in her head.

It seems impossible, her mind an unnavigable quagmire.

After a moment, she opens her eyes and rolls onto her side to fish her notebook out of her bag. Flipping to a new page, she unhooks the pen from the spiraled metal spine and hastily jots down the words that come to her, looping through her mind.

_My head is a jungle_

She pauses, drumming her pen on the notebook for a moment before she haltingly scribbles out more lyrics.

_My love is ~~a waste~~ wasted, sorry for this_   
_I never meant to be hurting ourselves_   
_And I’m complicated, you won’t get me_   
_I have trouble understanding myself_

Her hand stops again as she frowns, absently sketching out an indecipherable doodle while she thinks. But the inspiration has fled, becoming an elusive phantom again. She can hear a distinct rhythm in her head, but the prospect of finding the words for it is shrinking again.

With a heavy sigh, she drops her head into the crook of her elbow and closes her eyes. She lets herself drift, chasing the faint melody in her head.

She’s not sure how long she sleeps for, suddenly becoming conscious of the muted darkness of her closed eyelids. The crick in her neck, the pins and needles in her arm. The instinctual sensation that somebody’s standing over her.

Her eyes pop open, and her line of sight fills with red. Peeta’s red shorts. Her head snaps up, and she meets his furrowed gaze. Gasping, she rolls away to sit up, but her arm is asleep, and it buckles slightly as she pushes up on the mattress.

“Jesus, Peeta!” she croaks, still foggy with sleep. “Why are you watching me sleep?”

He makes a face at her, his lip curling slightly. “You look better in your sleep. You don’t scowl as much. Improves your looks.” Of course, she scowls, and he rolls his eyes, shaking his head as he snatches her open notebook off the bed. “I was reading your lyrics. I wasn’t watching you. Don’t flatter yourself.”

Her mouth drops open. This time an embarrassed flush creeps up her neck. “Can you stop reading my personal shit when I’m asleep?” She leans forward on her knees to grab it from him, but he moves back out of her reach.

“Can you stop leaving your personal shit out like you’re just begging for me to read it?” he taunts, and she glowers at him.

“I’m serious, Peeta. I don’t—I’m not done with—the lyrics. I can’t stand people reading my songs before I’m finished,” she stammers, tripping over her defense in her frustration, feeling acutely ripped open before him with her livelihood in his hands.

As if to pointedly defy her, he brings her notebook up to his face to read again, his eyes squinting curiously. She huffs, pushing her sleep-creased hair out of her face. She takes in the sight of him then, bare-chested and sweaty. His workout shirt is slung over his shoulder, and his blond curls are dark and damp, stuck to his forehead and twisting around the tops of his ears.

She forces her gaze away. This is something she’ll never get used to, no matter how many times he hangs out in their hotel room shirtless. Which is a lot. Too much.

Her lips twist into an annoyed sneer, and she crosses her arms over her chest, pouting at the wall in his protruding silence.

“You got a melody in mind?” he asks abruptly, tossing the notebook back at her.

Katniss blinks at him. “Yeah—a little bit.”

Whipping his shirt off his shoulder, Peeta launches it onto his bed and grabs his guitar from an armchair. He drags the chair closer to her bed before plopping down in it, resting the guitar in his lap. “Okay. Sing it to me.”

“What?” she barks, flabbergasted.

“Sing it to me. I’ll play the melody on my guitar,” he says, pushing his hair back off his forehead.

“No, I’ve—I barely have anything, I need to finish writing the song—”

“We’re writing this song together,” he interrupts harshly. “You’re struggling. It’s easier to do something when you have help, Katniss.”

Her mouth opens wordlessly before closing, then opens again. “I always write my songs alone,” she tells him. A last-ditch effort to defy him.

He doesn’t relent. “From now on, we write them together. Sing it.”

With a petulant sigh, she sits back on her bed and folds her legs under her. She closes her eyes and inhales deeply, finding the thread of the melody she’d strung together in her head earlier.

Keeping her eyes shut, she starts humming it softly. Then, louder, once she’s more confident. After a few refrains of the same notes, Peeta joins her, his fingers strumming the strings in tune with her voice. He plays in time with her established melody, his notes strong and clear. She’s surprised he picks up on it so quickly. Excited, even. It sounds even better than she expected. She opens her eyes to look at him. He’s watching her, too.

She opens her mouth to sing. “ _My head is a jungle_ ,” softly, a repeated refrain.

“Chorus?” he asks over the music, and she nods thoughtfully, stopping to grab her notebook and pen, struck with inspiration. Peeta keeps strumming the notes, testing out variations and flourishes to the basic melody they’ve established while she sloppily scribbles down the words crowding her brain. Suddenly, she can’t write fast enough.

_In a dark room we fight_   
_Make up for our love_   
_I’ve been thinking, thinking_   
_‘bout you, ‘bout us_

_And we’re moving slow_   
_Our hearts beat so fast_   
_I’ve been dreaming, dreaming_   
_‘bout you, ‘bout us_

She starts singing the lyrics, testing them, waiting for Peeta to pick up the melody. It doesn’t take him long.

The next hour bleeds away, Katniss jotting down lyrics, Peeta figuring out the notes, suggesting stronger word choices, testing out different, better chord progressions and harmonies. She fills up two pages with words and scratches, another two pages with music notations for reference. His voice joins hers on the chorus, and they figure out the best way to harmonize the song together. Katniss even grabs her guitar to play as they sing.

They run through the full song two, three times before Katniss decides it’s enough. Her throat is feeling raw, her voice scratchy, husky. But she’s excited, flushed and humming from the exertion of their brainstorming session. Adrenaline sings through her veins, and she smiles blindly at Peeta.

“That’s good, right?” she says, thumping her fingers against the hollow body of her guitar.

He grins, his skin dry but still flushed pink. His blue eyes are bright. “It’s awesome. Perfect, even.” He sets his guitar down, and she blinks at his bare chest. Her breathing shallows even more.

She forces her focus to a spot on the wall over his shoulder. “I—god, it’s been years since I’ve written a full song. I forgot how fun it is,” she says.

They fall into silence, the first cessation of sound in over an hour. They stare at each other, and Katniss can almost hear the rush of blood under her skin, through her heart. Adrenaline. Excitement.

“I thought you didn’t play the guitar when you sing,” he says, and she blinks languidly, trying to process his words.

Her chest and throat constrict then, and she looks away, the peace, the elation suddenly sucked out of the room like a vacuum. His comment makes her think about her dad, but that’s not something she ever plans on sharing with him. Her relationship with her father, the music they used to play together, what happened to him—it’s too personal, and she can’t open up to Peeta that way. Not again.

“I just...I don’t do it on stage. I can’t,” she says evasively, and Peeta seems to pick up on the shift in the room, the walls reconstructing themselves between them.

He sighs, a hard exhale. “I should shower,” he says faintly then shakes his head, speaks more firmly. “I need to shower.”

When he stands up, she drops her gaze to her guitar but nods, flipping through the pages of her notebook aimlessly. The bathroom door shuts a moment later, and she releases a rough sigh, closing her eyes.

She’s still buzzing, restless, and her head feels disjointed, fractured. The shower turns on inside the bathroom, and she stands up from her bed, puts her guitar away and moves around the room to grab her bag. Fishing out her sneakers and workout clothes, she hurriedly strips.

She needs to get out of this room. She needs to run.

* * *

Katniss and Peeta played the song for Haymitch, and he made them play it for Plutarch over the phone. Pleased with the progress, Plutarch demanded they use one of his studios in Florida while they were playing a show there to record it immediately. He was adamant about getting it on the radio and on every music service as soon as possible.

Compared to their last stint in the recording studio, recording this single went surprisingly easily. She and Peeta jibed a little too well for her comfort in the recording booth; they didn’t bump heads, they didn’t argue. She kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, but aside from a few half-hearted verbal barbs, they got in and out of the studio in just a matter of hours.

So by the time they arrive at the venue for soundcheck, they still have plenty of time to kill. She’s just pulling her phone out to call Prim or her mom for an obligatory check in when Haymitch ambles into the green room.

“Make yourselves presentable,” he orders, and Katniss glances over at Peeta, who swings himself up into a sitting position on the couch.

“Why?” she asks suspiciously, pocketing her phone to cross her arms over her chest.

Haymitch looks at his watch. “Effie scheduled you guys for an interview with Tribute Magazine. They’ve got a girl here to interview The Peacekeepers, but Effie sweet talked her into doing a little write-up on you two as well.”

Peeta just stretches his arms over his head, cracking his back muscles. “Okay,” he says, but Katniss stares at Haymitch in mild horror.

An interview. Where she has to actually talk to someone. Great.

Effie has been working with them over the last couple weeks, training them for the media, making them presentable to the public, helping them maneuver their feet from their mouths in the advent of a misstep. Peeta needed little training. Of course. He’s immediately charming and relatable the moment Effie asks him to turn it on. He’s charming and relatable with everyone already, everyone but her.

Katniss, on the other hand, is taciturn. Irritable. Impersonable. About as exciting as watching paint dry. That’s only a sampling of descriptors Effie and Haymitch used before throwing their hands up. “Just...let Peeta do most of the talking,” Effie had advised, rubbing futilely at her temples.

Which is fine by Katniss. She just wants to sing. To perform on stage. The rest is just background noise, the necessary evils of living her dream.

“How much time do we have before the interview?” she asks, tugging thoughtlessly at her braid.

“She was at the hotel with the guys, but they’re on their way now.” The words aren’t even completely out of Haymitch’s mouth before the rabble of four grown men drown him out. Finnick, Darius, Thresh and Cato spill into the green room behind him, a tall redheaded woman squeezed between them. She laughs at something Cato says, a tape recorder clutched in her hand.

Haymitch rolls his eyes. “Cato, stop manhandling the reporter so she can do her job,” he growls, causing the redhead to blush. Cato scowls at the man but gives the reporter a wink before releasing her.

After an effusive display of thanks, the reporter turns to Haymitch. He leads her their way, and Katniss takes a deep, weary breath as Peeta comes up beside her. She fights the urge to look at him, confused about the weird ceasefire they’ve managed to broker for the day. She’s hoping it extends through this interview.

“Lavinia, this is Katniss and Peeta, the duo behind The Victors,” Haymitch does the introductions. The redhead reaches out to shake their hands, and she’s polite enough, but Katniss can see the disinterested glaze to her eyes.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Peeta says, and even though she smiles, the redhead’s eyes jump around the room, her mind still clearly preoccupied by the much bigger, more famous band there.

This bodes well for Katniss’ standard irritability.

“I just have a few questions for you guys,” Lavinia says, thrusting the tape recorder between them. Katniss takes a reflexive step back but catches Haymitch’s stern glare and roots herself to her spot, awkward, straight as a stick.

“Well, I’m sure we have a few answers for you,” Peeta replies effortlessly, an easy grin in place, and Lavinia seems to take more notice of him then, an appreciative ripple flashing through her eyes, relaxing her face. She laughs.

Katniss scowls.

“So tell me how you two met,” the reporter asks, her eyes flicking between them, though they always land on Peeta. Katniss can’t help the instinctive tightening of her spine at the question, and Peeta throws Katniss an inadvertent look, already sliding into his role of charmer as easily as pulling on a glove.

“My cousin introduced us,” he begins, launching into the pre-approved story of their beginning already vetted by Haymitch. It’s all mostly true, anyway, though they’re careful to leave out the stuff about Peeta’s girlfriend and how quickly things went to shit between him and Katniss.

“So it was instant chemistry,” Lavinia muses, studying them intently. Katniss rolls her lips in a tight smile, though it probably looks more like a grimace. She can see Haymitch gesturing at her from over Lavinia’s shoulder.

“Something like that,” Katniss agrees reluctantly, grudgingly. Lavinia seems to prod her for more with her eyes, and Katniss freezes stupidly. She answered the question, didn’t she?

“I fell in love with her voice the moment I heard her sing,” Peeta says, and Katniss’ gaze snaps to him before she can stop herself, eyes round in shock. He doesn’t look at her, still smiling at Lavinia, and Katniss tries to force her expression back into one of nonchalance.

_Fell in love._ God. Did he have to phrase it like that? She ignores the uncomfortable flush igniting her body, her face. The treacherous flutter in her stomach.

“Hell, I think everybody fell in love with her voice.”

Darius appears suddenly at Katniss’ other side, slinging an arm around her shoulders. She stares at him like she’s never seen him before.

“Have you heard her sing?” he asks the reporter, who has the decency to look chagrined.

“Um, no, I’m afraid I haven’t,” she admits, but Darius just grins.

“Do yourself a favor. Stay to watch the show, and make sure you catch their act. It’s amazing. I’d be shocked if you didn’t leave here a little bit in love with Katniss yourself.”

What the fuck is going on? Katniss wants to laugh.

She does, actually, despite the blush ravishing her face.

“Exactly how much did Effie pay you to say that in front of this reporter?” she asks, and even though she’s mortified, she’s grateful for Darius’ distraction, so she doesn’t have to think about why Peeta’s words make her feel so weird.

Darius laughs, retracting his arm from her shoulders. His hand lingers on her arm a second too long. “It’s the truth, Scout’s honor,” he tells Lavinia. “They put on a great show. And it’s been fun having them on tour with us.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it has nothing to do with the tit to dick ratio being a little higher around here these days,” Katniss says, smiling at him as he saunters off, a feigned clueless look on his face.

Haymitch throws his hands up in the background, shaking his head, and Katniss clamps her lips together, immediately regretting her joke. Right. _Tit_ and _dick_ are definitely on the list of words she’s not supposed to say to the media.

Lavinia’s laughing though, shutting off her recorder. “Sorry,” Katniss offers weakly, but Lavinia just shrugs.

“I’m a music journalist. I’ve heard worse,” she says. “Thanks for talking to me. I’ll be sure to check your set out tonight.”

Katniss shakes her hand in goodbye, and Peeta does the same. When Katniss lifts her gaze to his face as Lavinia walks away, she’s shocked by the stormy look in his eyes. The tightness of his jaw, the hard line of his mouth. His eyes only briefly land on her face, and she’s immediately on the defensive at the accusations she sees in their depths.

“What?” she asks, frowning at him. She braces herself for his usual biting or sarcastic remark, but it doesn’t come. He just shakes his head to himself and walks away, in the direction of the refreshments. She gapes at his back, confused.

He can’t seriously be annoyed about the tits and dick line. The vibe she always got from him during Effie’s lessons was that he thought they were equally ridiculous, too.

Haymitch stalks toward her, and she sighs heavily, anticipating a tongue lashing. She can’t do right by anybody today.

“I know,” she says before he can even open his mouth. “No cussing when talking to the media.”

He scoffs. “You think I give a shit about your foul mouth?” He shakes his head, moving in close enough she can smell the whiskey on his breath. She wrinkles her nose, trying not to breathe as he shoves his face closer. “Did you forget we’re selling romance here?”

She blinks at him, her effort to not breathe already forgotten as she inhales sharply. “What—we’re not—you said that’s just on stage—”

“Yes, but that illusion falls apart when you start flirting with _other men_ right in front of a reporter, sweetheart,” he growls, and her mouth goes slack, but Haymitch just shakes his head and walks away, his grumblings trailing behind him.

She just stands there, embarrassed, and she crosses her arms over her chest, folding in on herself. Unbidden, her eyes dart toward Peeta, who’s rummaging through a cooler for a water. She’s not sure what ruffles her more about Haymitch’s accusation, that she was flirting with Darius or that somehow it bothered Peeta.

For one brief, stupid moment, she lets herself feel guilty, like she’s somehow betrayed Peeta, let down her bandmate.

And then she promptly comes to her senses and shakes her head, shoving the absurd feeling down.

So Peeta gets to keep his girlfriend, but she can’t even _flirt_ with other men? What a joke!

She stalks toward him, and when he sees her coming, he narrows his eyes, cracking the cap on his water bottle. “What’s your deal?” she demands.

“I’m thirsty,” he says simply, but there’s a hardness in his voice that belies his words. He won’t look at her. He takes a long gulp of his water as if to prove his point. She watches the cords of muscles in his throat ripple with each swallow.

“Why are you acting so pissed off?” she elaborates, waving her hand at him. She doesn’t know why she’s asking, why it matters. Except she’s usually the one who’s mad, and after their truce in the recording studio today, it bothers her that he’s the one acting put out now. And for what, she doesn’t even understand! Normally, when he’s pissed, she knows exactly what she’s done to push him to that point. It can’t be about Darius, that doesn’t make any sense.

Peeta nearly chokes on his mouthful of water, his face flushing red as he coughs. He jerks the bottle away from his face, water splattering on the ground at his feet. “Are you kidding me with that question?” he asks incredulously as he swipes at his mouth, and his eyes dart around their surroundings before he takes a step closer to her. His voice drops an octave, like he’s conscious of others overhearing them. “This is what you wanted. Remember? I’ve just been following your lead, sweetheart.”

God, she could go her whole life never hearing the word _sweetheart_ again, and it would still be too soon.

She tightens her mouth, feeling herself dangerously close to a pout. “When you’re pissed at me, you normally can’t wait to cut me down with a scathing remark. So why the silent treatment now?”

He sighs exasperatedly, the sound almost a groan as he dips his head back, eyes rolling to the ceiling. Then he’s back to glowering at her. “Fine. It’d be _great_ if you started carrying your own weight in selling this shtick with me. It’s not enough to just look pretty on stage.”

Her eyebrows shoot up, and her lips part in shock before pulling into a scowl. “I’m sorry if I’m not as good of a liar as you are,” she hisses.

His nostrils flare slightly, the barest hint of a smirk etching into the corner of his mouth as he stares at her. Finally, he says, “Oh, I think you’re better than you realize, Katniss.”

She narrows her eyes at him, trying to decipher his meaning, but suddenly Effie is calling to them to corral them onto stage for soundtrack, and Peeta lifts his eyebrows, smiling darkly at her. “Time to sell that lie. After you,” he says, sweeping his hand out before her.

Gathering her anger around her like a cloak, she turns on her heel and stomps after Effie.

* * *

About the only time Katniss and Peeta get along off-stage is when they’re writing music together. After hearing the finished song they’d recorded in Florida, Plutarch asked them—demanded, really—to write more songs like that. That’s the sound he wants for their full-length album, he decided for them. He only wants to put one or two of her old songs on the album, if that.

Which infuriated Katniss, at first. It still stings, but as she and Peeta crank out song after song, holed up in their hotel rooms or in the van, she has to admit these songs are better. Catchier, more mature somehow. She’s never written and composed songs this fast before. It takes them all of a week and a half to write enough songs to fill an album. Peeta pens a lot of the lyrics, too. He’s good with words, she can’t deny that. He spins songs of love with the ease of a damn medieval bard, and if she can just ignore his likely inspiration, she can appreciate the poetry of his lyrics.

They’re on their way to Austin, Texas, now, the location of their next show, but they have a couple days before they’re scheduled to play. So Plutarch wants them to use one of the District Thirteen’s recording studios there to start recording their new songs in their downtime. Over the next few weeks, she and Peeta are supposed to duck into a number of these recording studios stationed around the country to finish recording their album in between shows.

Katniss is already exhausted just thinking about it.

She curls up on the bench seat in the van, her head resting on a balled up hoodie against the window as she tries to catch up on some sleep before they begin the next few hellish days. She’s just drifting off, lulled by the repetitive rocking of the van on its axles and the hum of the background music, when a loud snore rips through the relative quiet.

Gritting her teeth together, Katniss squeezes her eyes shut, tries to ignore it, prays it won’t come again, but it does. Haymitch snorts and snuffles in his sleep in the bench seat behind her, and finally she’s forced to give up the ruse. With a huff, she sits up fully, curling her lip at their manager over the back of her seat, but he’s dead to the world. Lucky bastard.

Rubbing her tired face, Katniss looks toward the front seat, debating with herself, before she squeezes between the two front seats to plop down in the passenger seat. Peeta’s in the driver’s seat, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he drives. He and Haymitch take turns driving. Sometimes she does too, though she avoids it as much as she can; she feels so small behind the wheel of such a large, imposing vehicle.

Peeta glances at her skeptically when she lets out a sigh and buckles herself in. She doesn’t normally sit in the front with him.

“I can’t sleep with him snoring like that,” she says in her defense, throwing a scowl in Haymitch’s direction.

Peeta scoffs, amused. “I’m surprised you can hear him over your own snores.”

Her eyes widen at him before slitting. “What—I don’t snore!”

This time, he laughs. “You sound like a chainsaw when you sleep, Katniss. Sometimes I wake up thinking Leatherface is about to skin me alive.”

She blushes, trying to hold on to her annoyance and not give into her embarrassment. “You’re full of shit. I’ve never had anyone else tell me I snore.”

He just smiles blandly, keeping his eyes on the road. “Right, can’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t want to be honest with you. You’re so receptive and understanding.”

“Fuck you—”

Haymitch groans from the back. “Hey, shut the fuck up. I’m trying to sleep. You can continue your lovers’ quarrel at the hotel.”

Peeta presses his lips together, his eyes narrowing slightly, and Katniss takes a deep, steadying breath, willing herself not to lose her shit. Then she snatches Peeta’s phone off the dashboard, yanking the auxiliary cord from it so his music cuts off.

“Hey, what the fuck,” he snaps, throwing her a glare, and she tosses it into his lap. He grunts lightly, wincing when the phone connects with his groin. She feels a momentary trill of satisfaction.

“I’m so tired of that same shitty playlist,” she says, switching to the radio so she can scan through the stations.

“I don’t know what kind of heathens raised you, but common etiquette dictates that the driver gets to pick the music,” he growls, but even so, he shifts in his seat to slip his phone into his pants pocket.

Katniss snorts, only vaguely listening to the snippets of songs as the radio shuffles through the stations. They’re probably only going to get a bunch of country songs out here, anyway. “Wrong. Passenger is always in charge of the music.”

He shakes his head. “No, passengers are in charge of directions,” he says with infuriating condescension, reaching forward to manually change the station, but she jerks up straight with a gasp.

“Wait, wait!” she yells, slapping his hand away so she can find the station they were just on. It takes her a second, but when her ears pick up the familiar melody, her eyes go wide, her mouth gaping open. “Oh my god. It’s _us_! It’s our song!”

Peeta’s face goes slack in astonishment, already recognizing their song before she even finishes her exclamation. “Holy shit!”

“Oh my god!” she yells again, oblivious to Haymitch’s shouting from the back, and she pulls at Peeta’s sleeve, yanking hard. “Oh my god, pull over! Pull over!”

“Fuck—hold on!” he says, easing on the brakes so he can slow down and jerk onto a side road off the two-lane highway they’re driving on. He shifts the car into park as she jacks the volume up, her hand trembling on the knob. Her voice, the notes of Peeta’s guitar fill the car, pouring from the speakers.

_“I was speaking soft, see the pain in your eyes_   
_I've been feeling, feeling for you, my love_   
_And our bodies are tired, our shadows will dance_   
_I've been aching, aching for you, my love.”_

She lifts her wide eyes to his, which are equally round in awe and shock.

“Holy shit,” he repeats.

“Holy shit!” she echoes, a grin splitting her face. “We’re on the radio!”

Peeta starts laughing, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I can’t believe it!”

“Oh my god—”

“Can you two stop screaming? Big flippin’ deal!” Haymitch yells from the back, cutting off Katniss’ shriek. But she feels like if she doesn’t scream, she’s going to implode.

Hurriedly, she scrambles out of her seat belt and throws her car door open, nearly falling to her knees as she jumps out of the car. She can still hear their song, fainter without the amplification of the van walls, but she throws her head back. “Oh my god!” she shouts with a laugh, covering her face giddily.

She’s on the radio. She’s singing on the radio. Their music is on the radio. They’ve made it, even if only for a brief, shining moment. 

It’s silly, it shouldn’t mean as much as it does; their songs are already online, on iTunes, Spotify, every available music streaming service. But there’s still just something about the first time you hear yourself on the radio.

She wants to scream again, but she laughs instead. She needs to tell somebody. Prim. Gale. Madge. Her mother, anybody! She whirls around to find her phone, but Peeta’s rounding the car toward her, and before she can even process it, he sweeps her into a bone-crushing hug. She doesn’t even think, she just clings to him, her hysterical laugh buried in his shoulder as he lifts her off the ground, spins them around.

He’s laughing too, their song still playing on the radio. They just hold on to each other, soaking in the moment, until the song starts to fade out, a DJ’s voice cutting in to talk over the last strains.

“That was ‘Jungle’ by The Victors, a new band, who are currently on tour with The Peacekeepers. They’ll be playing the One World Theatre this weekend, so check them out. Okay, next up…”

Peeta sets her down, and she looks up at him, surprised to find her vision blurry with tears. Happy tears. She laughs again, embarrassed, and wipes at her eyes. “I can’t believe it…”

“That was incredible,” he says, still grinning. She’s suddenly aware of how close they are; she can smell him, can feel the imprint of his arms around her. It hits her at once. She can’t believe she let him hug her. She can’t believe he would want to hug her.

He seems to realize it at the same time, something indecipherable flashing across his face, and he looks away, runs a hand through his hair. They both seem to take a step away from each other, subconsciously putting some distance between them.

Haymitch bangs on the window then, startling them, and when they glance at him, he points to his watch.

Katniss sighs. Moment over.

“Right, we’ve got a tight schedule to keep,” Peeta mutters distractedly, shaking his head, and he walks back around to the driver’s side. Taking a deep breath, Katniss climbs back into the van and turns the volume down as Peeta slides into his seat.

Shyly, she glances at him, and he looks over at her at the same time to meet her gaze. With one more shared smile—a small one, strained even, but a smile devoid of malice or disdain at least—he puts the car back into drive and carefully pulls back onto the road, resuming their journey.

He doesn’t complain when she hooks up her own phone to the radio, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs referenced: "Waiting Game" by Banks, "Shells" by Laurel, and "Jungle" by Emma Louise
> 
> Follow me on tumblr if you want to talk! I'm muttpeeta :)


	6. Chapter 5

“I can’t believe you’re making a music video!”

Despite Katniss’ weariness, she can’t help but smile at Prim’s excitement. “It’s pretty surreal, I guess.”

“It’s pretty damn cool, is what it is. I know you’re excited even if you’re trying to play it cool.”

Katniss switches her phone to her right ear and squints at her reflection in the dressing room mirror. Despite hours of filming, her makeup and hair have held up fairly well.

“You’re right,” she says grudgingly. “But if I admit I’m excited, I think I lose some of my cool musician cred.”

Prim laughs. “I wish you had Face Timed me so I could see what you look like!”

“No way,” Katniss groans, sinking into her chair. “I look ridiculous. You’d laugh at me, and then they’d never be able to drag me back out onto set.”

While making a music video is pretty cool in theory, she’s not sure the reality matches up. The Victors’ single, “Jungle,” which she and Peeta wrote and recorded only a couple weeks ago, has been gaining spins on radio and climbing the iTunes charts. Plutarch wanted to make a video for it as soon as possible to capitalize on the public’s growing interest, so he scheduled a shoot in LA while they were playing some shows in California. Katniss had nearly shit herself when Haymitch told her and Peeta the news, but then they met with the music video director, Cinna, and saw the storyboards, and her excitement plummeted.

It’s a very literal interpretation of the jungle analogy used in the song. Which means a lot of green screens and stages set up to mimic humid jungle landscapes with swamps and dense forestry and creatures that Katniss can’t see but that Cinna insists will be added in post production. According to Cinna’s vision, she and Peeta are supposed to be running through the jungle like they’re running from these CGI creatures, but in the end the viewer realizes they’re actually trying to find each other.

Dressed in a skintight, complex-inducing kind of wetsuit strategically torn around her thighs and stomach with dark, coal-colored makeup smudged around her eyes, Katniss just feels ridiculous. She’s convinced it all looks ridiculous, too. She’s not an actor, and she’s pretty sure her face looks constipated when she’s running, trying not to trip over vines and rocks, dodging invisible creatures every time Cinna yells for her to duck. She’s wiped out a few times on the boulders and has the bruises on her knees and elbows to prove it. Peeta is of course a natural and somehow has more grace on this fake jungle terrain than she does, which has only added to her irritation about this whole video shoot. He laughed at her the first time she fell, but after her death glare, he’s wisely refrained from acknowledging her subsequent wipeouts.

She’s not even a klutz! She knows how to climb trees and mountains, and she even ran track in high school, for fuck’s sake!

Cinna finally took pity on her and called for a lunch break, which was when she retreated to her trailer (she has a freakin’ _trailer_ ) to call her sister for a much-needed pep talk. Leave it to Prim to be able to lift her from the pits of her hellish attitude.

She’s not an actor, but she’s at least polite and a hard worker, and even if she thinks this music video is going to suck, she can do what she’s asked and be grateful that Cinna agreed to this shoot at the last minute. Even if he's actually insane.

“I’m sure you don’t look that bad,” Prim says. Katniss huffs incredulously, rethinking her initial refusal to snap a photo and send it to her sister just to prove her wrong, but a PA knocks on the trailer door.

“Cinna needs you back on set!” Flavius, Katniss thinks she recognizes the voice. The slim man with the unnaturally orange corkscrew curls.

“Be right there!” Katniss calls through gritted teeth, then she sighs, turning her attention back to her phone. “Sorry, Duck, they need me back on set.”

“Well, by all means, Miss Famous Musician, don’t let me keep you,” Prim teases, and Katniss makes a gagging sound.

“I’m choking on the pretension already. I’ll see you on Tuesday, though, right?”

“Yes!” Prim practically yells. “I can’t wait to finally see you perform and meet Peeta!”

Katniss considers gagging again but just rolls her eyes at her reflection instead. Her sister’s heard more than an earful about Peeta at this point, but Prim being Prim, she refuses to make a judgment about him until she meets him herself. The Peacekeepers and The Victors are playing a show in San Diego on Tuesday, and Katniss and Peeta will backtrack there from LA after the weekend’s over to join back up with the tour. She and Prim have planned a day together prior to the show, for which Prim is gleefully already planning to skip classes, despite Katniss’ objections.

Choosing to ignore the topic of Peeta altogether, Katniss confirms her plans with Prim before hanging up. She gives her reflection one last critical once-over before she groans and pushes out of her chair, exiting her trailer to head back to set. 

* * *

Katniss closes her eyes as Flavius spritzes her face and neck with a water bottle in between takes to simulate sweat. He blots a towel over her forehead and cheeks, spritzes again, then reblots until he’s satisfied with the look. When he’s done, he turns his water bottle to Peeta, and Katniss fights the urge to scratch her nose, wriggling it as she watches Peeta get the same treatment.

The only real consolation of this whole shoot is that he looks just as ridiculous dressed in a similar wetsuit as she does. Although, really, he doesn’t look _that_ ridiculous, at all. The outfit is much more flattering on his broad chest and shoulders. His poor curls have become frizzy and unruly under the humid fog machines, though, and she snorts under her breath as Flavius tries to tame them into something more acceptably disheveled. Peeta hears her, however, and narrows his eyes at her.

“You’ve looked better too, sweetheart,” he mutters. He flinches when Flavius tugs a little too hard on a chunk of his hair.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure Cinna can pretty your hair up in post,” she retorts, giving in to the unbearable itch and rubbing her knuckle across her nose furiously. Flavius sees and is at her side in an instant, swatting her hand away.

“Your makeup!” he frets, using his fingertips to blend the makeup back in, as if the two pounds of foundation they shellacked on her face hours ago could possibly be removed with anything short of turpentine at this point. Still, she stops herself from slapping his hand away from her face, relieved when Cinna suddenly reappears.

He claps his hands together, and Flavius scatters. “Okay, last shot of the day,” he announces, and both Katniss and Peeta groan in gratitude. Cinna smiles at them. “Don’t be too excited. I saved the hardest shot for last.”

Haymitch sidles up beside Cinna then, and Katniss eyes him suspiciously. He’s been on the set all day, though he’s stayed out of the way, mostly just scarfing down refreshments at Crafts Services. Now he has a look in his eyes that only spells trouble.

“Do we need to fight an invisible swamp monster now or something?” she asks as she tugs uncomfortably at the wetsuit material around her breasts, trying to imagine just how much more ridiculous this video can get.

Cinna shakes his head and recounts the storyboards for them, laying out his vision. “Now’s the reunion scene where you two have finally found each other again after running through the harrowing jungle. You’re happy, you're relieved, it’s an intense moment. I was talking to Haymitch and reviewing the footage so far, and I think we’re in agreement. The song is passionate, so the reunion should be passionate.” He looks between the two of them, and even though his expression is calm, unbothered, Katniss doesn’t like where this is heading. “I need you two to kiss in this scene.”

“ _What?!_ ”

Katniss’ and Peeta’s shouts are simultaneous, and if she weren’t so horrified herself, she might be offended at how aghast Peeta sounds at the prospect of kissing her.

Cinna and Haymitch must have prepared for the objections because they don’t even flinch at the outbursts. In fact, Haymitch launches into a spiel immediately, as if he anticipated the pushback. “Look, Plutarch thinks it’s a good idea too. He thinks it’ll drive more interest in the single and your album, and as gimmicky as it sounds, he’s right. And I learned a long time ago not to question Cinna’s batshit ideas, so just go with it.”

Katniss is still reeling, her lips parting uselessly as she tries to formulate an argument, but Peeta’s not as tongue-tied.

“But—kissing—that’s just—I thought the idea was to _play coy_ , make people only wonder if we’re, you know— _together_. Kissing on camera is the exact opposite of coy!” he stammers, gesticulating wildly as he talks.

“Music videos just tell a story. Hell, you two are the ones who wrote the song,” Haymitch finishes with an indifferent shrug.

A prickling heat flushes up Katniss’ neck at his words. At his insinuation. “You’re the one who asked for more heat, so that’s what I— _we—_ gave you!”

He smirks at her. “Right. So you shouldn’t have any trouble faking it a little more.”

She’s so mad, she actually considers throwing a chair at him. And if the nearest one weren’t half way across the set, she just might have.

“I can’t do it, Haymitch,” Peeta says fiercely, and Katniss’ eyes snap to him. He runs a hand through his hair, undoing all of Flavius’ hard work. “I can’t.”

“It’s just acting, boy,” Haymitch says, exasperated, but Peeta shakes his head.

“You don’t understand.”

“So enlighten me.”

Katniss narrows her eyes, planting her hand on her hip, suddenly irritated in a way she can’t articulate. “He’s just worried about his girlfriend,” she answers for him, sourness dripping from her words. Peeta glances at her, his lip curling in an answering sneer, but Haymitch grunts.

“She’ll get over it. You’ve got a job to do. I mean, what the hell did she think she was getting into dating a musician?”

Peeta’s eyes widen. “Certainly not this! Look, it’s already fucked up enough that I can’t even acknowledge my girlfriend publicly, that I have to pretend-slash-not-pretend to have an illicit relationship with my band mate. Do you have any idea how hard this is for her?”

“Do you think I care?” Haymitch snaps, finally losing his patience. “Is she part of this band? Because I don’t remember seeing her at that meeting with Plutarch. I don’t see her on stage every night. Your contract is with District Thirteen. I don’t care if your girlfriend is insecure or jealous. Just do your damn jobs!”

He storms off, and an unbearably uncomfortable silence follows in his wake, settling around the set, until Peeta breaks it.

“Fine,” he says, flexing his fists at his sides. Anger still simmers in his eyes, but his expression is resigned. He gestures to Cinna and the cameras. “Let’s get this over with.”

Katniss was almost feeling sorry for him, and Glimmer, and this whole stupid arrangement, but the disgust in his voice infuriates her all over again. Cinna starts yelling directions at them and the crew, and Katniss only half-heartedly listens to him, moving where he tells her to, as she glowers at Peeta. He’s not looking at her, but when the set starts to clear so the cameras can start rolling, Katniss tells him, “You know, it's not like I'm looking forward to this either. You are the last person I want to kiss.”

His eyes cut to her, his face dark. He just stares at her for a moment, and for some inexplicable reason she feels panic surging inside her, a growing, disquieting unease, like he's looking for something. No, like he's remembering something, a small, awful moment from months ago that she tries so hard to forget. But he just shakes his head, his teeth gritted. “Glad we're on the same page then.”

She doesn’t respond, swallowing the sick stuck in the back of her throat and giving Cinna her attention as he directs them to run into each other’s arms and grab each other without obscuring the other’s face before kissing. Suddenly, the lights dim, making anxiety flood through her veins and her limbs weak and her stomach twist. Then Cinna is yelling “Action!” and _holy shit she actually has to kiss Peeta._

Her body lurches forward of its own accord, trying to follow Cinna’s direction even though her mind is frozen five steps behind her. She and Peeta don’t grab each other so much as they collide, and their faces duck and weave awkwardly, one trying to go forward as the other pulls back to avoid smacking noses. She has a distant, fleeting thought that it’s like seventh grade Spin the Bottle all over again.

“Cut!” Cinna calls out, and they release each other instantly, both reeling back to put a gulf of space between them. Katniss’ face feels hot, and, humiliated, she can’t even meet Peeta’s gaze as Cinna gives them more pointers. “Okay, this time try stopping a foot away from each other before you reach out. And then go in for the kiss.”

Katniss and Peeta just nod, making sure not to catch each other’s eyes as Cinna sets up the scene again. Peeta clears his throat a few times, and she takes a couple of deep breaths, letting them out slowly in a vain attempt to ease her nerves, but then Cinna’s calling action again.

This time, they don’t bump together awkwardly. She hesitates a step away from him, like Cinna suggested, and Peeta grabs her by the hips to pull her closer. Which surprises her, and she reacts instinctively, grabbing onto his shoulders, tipping her head back when he leans down.

There’s only a fraction of a second’s hesitation before their lips touch, their eyes meeting briefly, and then they’re kissing. Her mouth is already open, lips just barely parted—she’s not even sure if she meant to do that—and his tongue brushes against hers. Her brain instantly shuts down, all her thoughts and concerns and anxieties from a moment before disintegrating with that flick of his tongue, and she's kissing him back. Opening her mouth wider for him, stroking his tongue, the roof of his mouth. Clawing at his chest, his shoulders, his neck. Pushing up on her toes as his hands flatten against her spine and the small of her back, pulling her flush against his body. They kiss until she’s dizzy and lightheaded, unable to suck in enough air but too fixated on the taste of him, the feel of his tongue licking his way into her mouth, the way he is all lips and tongue and teeth and hands, pulling at her waist, her hair, her jaw.

Cinna has to call cut two or three times before either of them hears it, but they seem to register the command at the same time because they both jerk away from each other like someone dumped a wall of ice water on them. She falls back a few steps, and reflexively, she wipes at her mouth, embarrassed by the amount of saliva on her lips, clinging to her chin. Her lungs are screaming for air, desperate to expand and suck in what she deprived them of, but she tries to breathe slowly so her chest isn’t heaving, so it isn't obvious Peeta quite literally took her breath away. Her face is on fire—and, oh god, something low in her belly too—but she just hones her focus on Cinna, hoping her expression is one of apathy and not weak-kneed desire.

Her head is still spinning, though, thick and foggy. From the corner of her eye, she can see Peeta mirroring her actions, arms flat at his sides, eyes trained on Cinna.

“Okay. Good. I think that’s a wrap for today,” he announces, looping his headphones around his neck as he stands up from his chair. “We didn’t need quite so much tongue, but I can work around that in editing.”

And now Katniss wants to die.

“Can I get out of this damn wetsuit now?” she blurts out desperately, already tugging at the collar because she feels like it’s suffocating her. Her skin doesn’t even feel like her own right now. She’s about ready to strip on set when Cinna tells her yes, then she’s racing to her trailer, barely managing to slam the door shut behind her before she rips the costume down her torso and arms.

Her hands are shaky, her limbs like jelly, her breaths laborious, and it’s an effort to peel the material off her body. With horror she realizes her nipples are hard and pointed, and the trailer is way too warm to be the cause. She doesn’t have to physically check between her thighs to know how pathetically wet she is.

All from a stupid kiss.

She kicks the wetsuit off her feet before collapsing on a small couch, naked. She finds her robe and drags it around her body, pulling it over her head as she curls up on the cushions, needing a moment to breathe, to just think.

Why the hell did she kiss him like that? She's a crap actress all day, but suddenly, miraculously she's able to swap spit with him like it's her damn job? Which, technically, she supposes it is. But that kiss felt more natural than anything else she's done today.

That wasn’t all her though, was it? Couldn’t have been. She remembers the way he pulled her against him, can still feel his handprints seared into her hips, her back.

Shaking her head furiously, she takes a deep breath and expels it, trying to push out the thoughts as well. She decides to chalk the intensity of the kiss up to just wanting to get through the scene as quickly as possible so they wouldn’t have to do it again. The arousal is only natural, of course.

Of course.

Forcing herself up from the couch, she makes herself get dressed, ignoring the way she absently touches her mouth and drags her fingers across her still swollen lips.

* * *

Haymitch drives them to the hotel where they’re staying near the studio. They still have one more day to shoot, though Cinna assures them it’s just to get footage of them singing and performing. No more running through a jungle. No more kissing.

Katniss is grateful the drive is short. She can barely even look at Peeta. She tries to keep her expression stony, her gaze trained out the window. Haymitch prattles on in the background, but she’s not sure either of them is listening to him at this point.

She’s the first one out of the car once they get to the hotel, mercifully avoiding eye contact with Peeta in the elevator—it helps that he’s avoiding looking at her too. On their floor, she bursts into their hotel room and grabs a change of clothes. “I’m taking a shower first,” she finally mutters as she weaves around him, leaving a wide berth. The first words she’s spoken since running off set. He doesn’t say anything, and she locks herself away in the bathroom, suddenly desperate to step under the hot spray of a cleansing shower.

Stripping out of her clothes, she hurriedly climbs into the tub and ducks under the water. It cascades through her hair, down her face, over the planes of her body, rinsing away the layers of makeup and hairspray and sweat. She scrubs at her eyes, pulling her hand back to look at the streaks of black and purple. Then she furiously scrubs at her mouth, snatching up a washcloth and lathering it with soap to rid her lips of the lingering stain. The lingering taste…

She’s not sure how long she stays in there, cleaning every inch of her body, but eventually, reluctantly, she turns off the water and steps out to dry off. Her face is pink, rubbed raw by the scratchy hotel washcloth. But she’s erased any and every trace of the video shoot, at least.

The room is quiet when she cautiously opens the bathroom door, and she’s hopeful Peeta left, but when she steps farther into the room she can hear his muffled, just barely discernible voice from the patio. She can’t see him because the curtains shield the glass doors. The door isn’t completely shut, however, and she’s not sure he realizes that.

She doesn’t mean to listen, but his rising voice captures her curiosity.

“—it’s not like that!” He sounds frustrated, frazzled. There’s a pause on his end before he continues, “No, of course not! Come on! I’ve told you how Haymitch is—”

He’s talking to Glimmer. About the kiss. The realization makes her feel sick, and she knows she shouldn’t be overhearing this, but she can’t make herself turn away.

“What was I supposed to do? What the hell can I do? It’s my job. It’s in the contract.” Peeta pauses again. “And I’m sorry! There’s nothing I can do about it!” He groans loudly, the sound angry, desperate, pleading. “How many times do I have to tell you, Glimmer? It’s not like that. There’s nothing between us. It’s just—it’s—it’s all bullshit, it’s acting. I told you you have nothing to worry about!”

He goes quiet again, and when he speaks a moment later, his voice is quieter, more subdued, so she can’t hear the rest of his conversation. But her mind is reeling anyway, stuck on a loop of his last words.

_It’s not like that._

_There’s nothing between us._

_I told you you have nothing to worry about._

Suddenly, something Haymitch said to them earlier comes back to her: _I don’t care if your girlfriend is insecure or jealous. Just do your damn jobs!_

Katniss hadn’t really thought much of it in the moment, too paralyzed by the task of having to kiss Peeta. It seems laughable that Glimmer would ever be jealous of Katniss, but now she can’t help but wonder if there’s something to it—if Peeta has mentioned something to Haymitch before that would make him say that.

It certainly sounds like Peeta’s trying to reassure his girlfriend now.

Katniss chews on her lip, a strange feeling of sympathy rushing through her for Glimmer. It’s not an easy situation for anybody, but Katniss can’t even imagine how hard it would be to know your boyfriend sleeps in the same room with another woman night after night, pretends to flirt with her on stage. And now apparently even makes out with her on camera.

She’s just deciding to go back into the bathroom, to try to give Peeta a little privacy and take a bath or something to bide her time, but the glass door jerks open suddenly, Peeta appearing as he flings the curtains aside. His expression is stormy, but he startles when he sees her, his face going slack with surprise at the sight of her.

She’s momentarily paralyzed too, not sure what to say or do. So she does the stupid thing, of course. “Glimmer really doesn’t—she doesn’t have anything to worry about,” she stammers, uselessly.

His face pales then hardens at the realization that she overheard their argument. She regrets speaking immediately as she watches his jaw tighten.

“You were eavesdropping on my conversation?” he sneers, but he doesn’t give her a chance to answer. “You don't get to talk to me about my girlfriend, _ever_.” He slams the door shut behind him. The jarring sound makes her jump. His visceral anger stuns her. He’s been angry with her before—she’s reminded of their first night together, after the opening show—but it hasn’t been this malicious in a long time. She thought they were doing better this past week, making some strides toward something more civil in the wake of hearing their single on the radio.

Apparently not.

Her mouth twists into a scowl, her hand fisting at her side. But she doesn’t say anything, just grabs her phone and roomkey off her bed and storms out of the room. Her slam of the door echoes more loudly than his did.

The sound invigorates her, her blood already running hot with anger, and she stomps toward the elevator bank. Except she has no idea what she plans to do or where to go. She brings up her phone and shoots a text to Finnick, hoping he and Annie aren’t already holed up in their hotel room for the night. She paces as she waits for a response, growing agitated, wondering what the hell else she can do, when his reply comes through.

_Upstairs hanging at the pool. Come join us!_

Her relief is immediate, and she hurriedly jabs the button for the top floor. When the elevator deposits her on the 19th floor, she heads in the direction of the fitness room and the adjoining indoor pool.

She sees Finnick first, performing a perfect swan dive into the deep end. Annie and Darius applaud him, whistling their approval. As Katniss approaches, Annie waves excitedly to her. “Hey!” She jumps up to hug her, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she’s soaking wet with pool water. That’s when Katniss notices the beer cans scattered around the pool.

Darius greets her next, pulling her into a hug when Annie releases her. He’s bare-chested and only dressed in shorts, his skin pale and lightly freckled.

“How was the video shoot?” he asks conversationally, his arm still slung around her shoulders even after he releases her.

She shrugs, not really wanting to get into it. “Fine. Ridiculous. Exhausting. Can I have a beer?” she asks hopefully, and he laughs, dropping his arm to grab her one from the cooler they’d brought up to the pool.

She hangs out with them for a bit, sitting on the edge of the pool, drinking her beer, while they jump into the water and float around.

“Everdeen, get in the water!” Finnick demands, splashing water in her direction. She wrinkles her nose, kicking some back at him.

“I don’t have a bathing suit, Odair,” she tells him, and he just laughs.

“So? Neither do we.” He drags Annie toward him through the water, lifting her up single-handedly on his bicep. She screams and laughs, clinging to his head, and Katniss can see now that Annie’s just in a matching bra and panties.

Katniss hesitates, but then she catches Darius’ eye, who’s smiling encouragingly at her as he hangs onto the side of the pool. What the hell? Swigging a large mouthful of her beer, Katniss stands up and peels off her t-shirt and shorts down to her black bralette and panties. Finnick and Annie cheer her on, making her blush, so she hurriedly jumps into the pool close enough to douse them with water. When she surfaces, wiping the water out of her eyes, Darius swims over to her.

“Looking good, Everdeen,” he tells her, and she rolls her eyes, though his compliment sends a frisson of pleasure through her.

“Don’t be a pervert.”

He grins. “I can’t be. Cato’s already got the role filled.”

She’s trying not to smile, stretching her legs down through the water. She can just barely reach the bottom with her toes, so she has to tread her arms to keep her head above the waterline. “Well, I don’t see him here ogling women in their underwear.”

“Underwear?” He feigns confusion. “I was talking about your form. I’d give that canonball a 7.”

This time, she laughs. “You’re an incorrigible flirt, Darius,” she says, swimming to the side of the pool to grab her beer. “I thought that was Finnick’s thing.”

He follows her, shrugging as he hooks onto the lip of the pool again. “We’re off duty. That means we’re free to be who we really are.”

She turns to face him, taking a sip of her beer. Up close, it’s hard not to check him out, what’s exposed by the water. He’s got a nice body, his chest solid and defined. She realizes he doesn’t have a single hair on his chest. He must wax it.

Peeta has hair. The thought’s random and intrusive as she recalls the number of times she’s seen him shirtless by this point. It’s fine, sparse, light-colored hair, but he obviously doesn’t manscape it, doesn’t do anything to trim it or wax it.

Suddenly, now that the alcohol has deconstructed the mental barriers in her head, she’s thinking about the kiss again. Specifically, the way Peeta pulled her against him right before his mouth touched hers, such a seemingly insignificant gesture but something that still fills her with unwelcome heat, a low ache in her belly, between her thighs. There had been something so primal in the way he touched her face, the way he opened her mouth with his tongue.

No—her mouth had already been open. Ready and eager for his.

She tries to shake herself of the lurid, traitorous thoughts and realizes she’s just been staring at Darius’ chest. He looks amused, and she flushes even redder than she already was from her momentary daydream. She forces her eyes away, over to Finnick. He’s just as hairless as Darius, she realizes.

“Is it, like, written into your contracts that you guys have to wax your chests?” she asks, trying to diffuse her embarrassment, how flustered she is.

He laughs. “No, but it’s just one of those unwritten rules. When you’re posing half-naked in magazines, they don’t want to see hair.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” she says after another sip of beer.

They talk for a little while longer until everyone decides to call it a night. Katniss drank a couple of beers, so her mind feels relaxed, only mildly muddled. Annie hands her one of the towels they stole from the gym, and Katniss wraps it around her body, tucking the corner under her arm. It barely covers her ass, but it’s good enough to get her through the hotel to her room.

After saying goodnight to the others, she gets off on her floor and heads to her room, wondering if Peeta is still awake. She’s still deciding whether she’s just going to ignore him or confront him about earlier as she swings the door open, stumbling over the threshold slightly. Most of the lights are off except for one in the corner, where Peeta sits in a chair, reading something on his iPad. He’s got a glass of something golden beside him, so he must have gotten into the mini-bar. Something Haymitch warns them to steer clear of, since Plutarch doesn’t like to pay for incidentals. It’s not covered in the budget, just as separate rooms for them isn’t either.

Peeta looks up as she walks into the room, his expression originally unreadable until he takes in her current state. Then he just looks confused, his gaze quickly flitting up and down the length of her body, though he still doesn’t breach the silence.

Tossing her clothes down on top of a pile near her bed, she makes the snap decision to say something. “Are you done being an asshole?” she asks, raking a hand through her wet hair.

He shakes his head, his expression shuttering once again. “Trust you to ruin an apology before it even starts.”

“What do I have to apologize for?” she cries out, and he snaps his case shut on his iPad, looking exaggerated.

“I didn’t say you did—though eavesdropping is normally frowned upon.” He continues before she can object again, “I was going to apologize for yelling at you earlier, but now, not surprisingly, I feel less inclined to do so after that greeting.”

She scowls, working through his words. He still looks annoyed, but his approach has softened from earlier, at least. “I wasn’t trying to listen to your conversation,” she says suddenly, which is the closest she’s going to get to apologizing in this moment. “Normally, people shut the door all the way when they want some privacy.”

“Noted,” he says, his tone dry. But it’s not angry, at least.

She feels emboldened to keep the conversation going, untucking the towel from around her breasts. “Anyway, what I was trying to say earlier was that Glimmer has nothing to worry about because kissing you was about as enjoyable as getting a root canal,” she bluffs, thoughtlessly letting her towel drop to the floor as she goes to grab her pajamas. Peeta makes a sound that stops her, and when she looks up at him, he’s wide-eyed and stunned.

He quickly breaks himself of his stupor, his eyes snapping from her breasts to her face, and he jerks his iPad up to cover his eyes. “Whoa! What are you doing?” he asks incredulously, blocking her from his line of sight.

She gasps and quickly snatches her towel up to shield herself. Her head spins slightly, mortification flushing her face and chest. “I—shit, I didn’t realize—I mean I forgot I—I don’t have a bathing suit on,” she stammers, as if that isn't obvious to him. The excuse sounds hollow to even her ears. Fuck, he probably thinks she’s trying to seduce him or something equally moronic! God! She didn’t think she was _that_ drunk. She just hadn’t been thinking at all. “I went swimming with Finnick and Annie and Darius. I didn’t take a suit with me. I forgot! Don’t look!”

“I’m not!” he yells back, and true to his word, he keeps his eyes blocked.

Hastily, she grabs her pajamas and a new pair of underwear then darts into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her. She turns on the shower before groaning miserably, hoping the running water drowns out the sound. Maybe she shouldn’t be so embarrassed. He walks around shirtless all the damn time! Would it really have been different if she’d been in a bathing suit instead of underwear that revealed an equal amount of skin—if not more?

It’s technically the same, but, god, it’s really not, _at all_. And once again, he looked horrified, and she feels like an idiot.

With a whimper, she strips out of her wet underwear and steps into the tub to take her second shower of the night.

* * *

“So when do I get to meet Finnick?”

This is the third time Prim has asked her sister about Finnick since Katniss met her for a late lunch. Katniss rolls her eyes as they walk into the hotel lobby.

“You know he’s married, right?”

“Duh.” Prim bounces on the balls of her feet, waiting anxiously while Katniss calls for an elevator. “Finnick Odair married Annie Cresta, his high school sweetheart, in May 2012. Doesn’t change how hot he is though.”

Damn. How did everyone else but Katniss know he’s married? Once in the elevator, she hits the button for her and Peeta’s floor. “Well, you’ll meet him and the rest of The Peacekeepers before tonight. You can come backstage before the show.”

“Backstage!” Prim squeals under her breath, and Katniss can’t contain her grin at her sister’s enthusiasm. After weeks on tour, amidst a grueling schedule, it’s refreshing and invigorating. And anticipating her visit with her sister has made the last couple of days and residual awkwardness with Peeta more bearable. At least, it’s kept her mind focused on something else.

When they reach her hotel room, Katniss is surprised and a little confused to find it empty. She figured Peeta would be here; she was bracing herself for the uncomfortable introductions. “Well, I guess you might not meet Peeta till before the show either,” she says with a shrug, throwing her bag onto her bed.

Prim flops down on the bed, bouncing on the edge. “It must be weird sharing a room with a guy.”

 _You have no idea!_ she wants to scream, thinking about her accidental disrobing the other day. The getting dressed and showering elements are the weirdest parts, but she guesses they’ve kind of settled into a begrudgingly comfortable routine with each other. They had no choice but to, really.

“Yeah, I’d prefer to have my own room,” Katniss grumbles. She misses being able to sleep pantless. It’s just too weird sleeping in only a shirt with Peeta in the room. She doesn’t want to accidentally flash him her panties or her ass. Neither does he, apparently, judging from how horrified he was at seeing her pretty tame underwear the other day.

“I’m sure his girlfriend would prefer it too,” Prim says leadingly, her eyebrows raised. Katniss shrugs her shoulders again, kind of regretting telling Prim about the fight she’d overheard with Peeta and Glimmer.

“I don’t blame her. I’d hate for my boyfriend to share a bedroom with another girl for months on end, too.”

“And a pretty girl, at that.”

Katniss rolls her eyes, crawling onto the bed beside her sister. “You haven’t seen Glimmer. She’s a knockout. The idea of her being threatened by my looks is laughable.”

“Oh, Katniss. Don’t sell yourself short. You’re beautiful and talented, and you’re going to be famous before you know it,” Prim insists, rolling onto her stomach as she stretches. Katniss laughs.

“I wish I could bring you to every show, Duck,” she says wistfully. Not necessarily for the ego boost, though that would be nice. But she misses her sister, and it’d be nice to have a friendly face around more often. Even with fans and fellow musicians and Peeta, it gets surprisingly lonely on tour. It’s not something Katniss was prepared for, especially as an introvert. It’s hard to explain. Sometimes she wishes she could talk to Peeta about it more, to see if he ever feels the same way, but their relationship just isn’t at that level. They’re business partners, not friends. And they can barely make it through a day without arguing about something.

“Me too,” Prim says, staring at Katniss with soft, sympathetic eyes, and Katniss realizes her face is twisted into a frown.

Clearing her throat, she tries to brighten her expression. “Let me play you some of our new songs I told you about. I wanna know what you think,” she says, rolling to the edge of her bed to grab her laptop off the floor.

* * *

When it’s time for soundcheck, Katniss and Prim walk to the venue, since it’s only a few blocks from the hotel. Backstage she finds the members of The Peacekeepers and Peeta, who is sitting behind a set of drums, beating out a steady rhythm on a snare drum. Thresh stands in front of him, his arms crossed as he nods in time with the beat.

The scene is baffling. “What are you doing?” she calls to him, stomping toward him with Prim trailing behind her.

Peeta glances up at her before finishing with a flourish on the cymbals, then he quickly grabs them to silence the reverberating crash. “Just getting some drum lessons from Thresh,” he says, hopping up from the stool. He hands the sticks over to Thresh, who smiles at Katniss.

“He’s actually not bad for a beginner.”

“I was thinking we could add some snare drum to our shows,” Peeta tells her as he circles around the kit to get to her. His skin is a little dewy from his exertion, and he swipes at his face, the curls sticking to his forehead. “Or a bass drum. I think some of the songs could use something extra, don’t you? I could do the bass drum while I play the guitar, and you could do the snare while you sing.”

“I don’t know how to play the drums,” she says, feeling a familiar obstinance rise in her. She doesn’t know why this annoys her, but it does.

He shrugs. “I’m sure you could learn. It’s fairly easy.”

“I wish you would’ve talked to me before you decided this,” she snaps.

“This _is_ me talking to you. Nothing’s been decided yet. It was an idea that literally came to me this afternoon.”

Katniss crosses her arms over her chest. “Is that why you weren’t in the hotel room? I didn’t know you were coming here to work on our music without me.”

Exasperation flashes in his eyes, but his expression remains frustratingly neutral. “No, I left the room because I figured you’d like me gone so you could spend some time with your sister.” He glances over her shoulder. “And this must be her. I can definitely see the resemblance.”

 _How?_ Katniss wants to ask—if anything, Prim looks more like Peeta with her blonde hair, blue eyes and fair skin. They could actually be siblings; there’s very little resemblance between the two sisters.

As if he can sense her confusion, he explains, “She’s got that same skeptical look you always give me.” He reaches his hand out to Prim. “I’m Peeta, but I’m guessing Katniss has told you plenty about me already.”

Katniss scowls slightly, rolling her eyes, but Prim finally laughs lightly as she takes Peeta’s hand to shake it. “Just a little, yeah,” she confirms wryly, but there’s an apologetic glint in her blue eyes. “You’re not...quite what I was expecting.”

Peeta shoots Katniss an amused look. “Yeah, I’m sure. It’s nice to meet you, Prim. Would you like a water or soda? We’ve got everything.”

“Diet Coke?” Prim asks, sounding a little surprised. Even Katniss can’t quite believe how overly polite he’s being to her sister. When Peeta walks away to raid the cooler, Katniss gives her sister a warning look.

“Don’t be fooled,” she mutters. “I fell for the act at first too.”

Prim just shrugs, her brow creased. “I like to give everyone the benefit of the doubt,” is all she says before Peeta returns with a water bottle for her.

“Thank you, Peeta.”

“Sure.” He gestures behind him to where the others are lounging or eating. “Do you want to meet the other guys?”

Prim’s face brightens like he just offered to lasso the moon for her, but she gets all shy and embarrassed as she nods eagerly, tucking her hair behind her ear. Katniss can’t help but laugh.

“Just wait till Finnick starts complaining about needing to fart all night after scarfing down an entire Taco Bell party pack by himself, then tell me how attractive you still find him,” she warns Prim, but even as Peeta does the introductions for all the band members, Prim can’t stop giggling and blushing like a besotted schoolgirl.

* * *

Katniss pushes her way to the bar, heading toward Peeta when she spots him up front because it’ll be her easiest access point. She pokes him in the side, hard, and he jumps, craning his head over his shoulder to narrow his eyes at her.

“What do you want?” His voice isn't unkind.

She leans closer so he can hear her. “Whatever beer’s on special!” she yells, smiling cheekily at him because she’s already three drinks in and they had an amazing show, so she’s in an exceptionally good mood. This is usually when they're at peace with each other, right after a show. He shakes his head at her but flags the bartender down to pass along her order anyway.

“Hey, you’re in that band—that opening band for The Peacekeepers, right? The Victors?” A pretty brunette to Peeta’s right peers up at him, her face lit with an excited smile.

He mirrors her smile with a more subdued version. “That I am.” Katniss frowns when he doesn’t point her out to the woman, but she stays quiet, folding her arms over her chest as she watches the exchange.

“Oh my god, I was there tonight!” the woman exclaims, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “God, you were so good! I love your music! I haven’t heard it before, but I bought the EP right after the show!”

Finally, Peeta’s eyes slide to Katniss, and she lifts her eyebrows in return, waiting, but he just shrugs, his smile twitching with amusement as he turns his attention back to the woman. “Thank you so much. I hope you like the EP.”

“I’m sure I will,” she chirps, extending her hand. “I’m Clove, by the way.”

He shakes her hand. “Nice to meet you, Clove. I’m Peeta.”

With a sound of disgust, Katniss turns away so she doesn’t have to watch the shameless scene anymore. She’s almost relieved when she spies Darius making his way to the bar, and she shuffles in his direction, pulling at his elbow. His head swivels in her direction, and an automatic grin spreads across his face.

“There you are,” he says, pulling her under his arm for a hug. She’s a little surprised, but she returns it with little hesitation, flattening her palms along his back. He feels nice. She can smell cigarette smoke on him, but the pungent tobacco smell doesn’t really faze her at the moment.

“Were you looking for me?” she asks, her tone and smile light and flirty because why not? His hand trails down her back to hook around her hip, holding her close. It’s an intimate gesture, but Katniss is just tipsy enough to not care.

“I’m always looking for you,” he teases back, still smiling. “But I saw your sister alone at the table with only Cato to keep her company, so I was a little worried.”

“Fuck,” Katniss curses, her lighthearted mood slipping as she pulls away from Darius. “I guess I gotta go threaten him with bodily harm now.”

He laughs and resumes his path to the bar. “I’m sure Cato wouldn’t try anything anyway—but yeah, that’s probably a good idea, just in case,” he throws over his shoulder.

With a frustrated sigh, Katniss turns back to Peeta but pulls up short when she sees him stepping away from the bar. There’s only one drink in his hand. “Hey, where’s my beer?” she asks dubiously.

He shrugs, his expression deadpan. “You walked away. I figured Darius was getting you a drink, so I let Clove have yours.” He points behind him to where the brunette is sipping from an amber bottle, giggling in hushed tones with her friend.

Katniss just gawks at him, annoyance creeping in swiftly. “Thanks, jerk,” she mutters. Deciding to forgo her drink, she spins around and stalks back to the VIP section. She spots Prim at the table, flush-faced and laughing at something Cato is saying to her. He’s leaning a little too close to her baby sister, and the sight makes Katniss see red.

“Get lost, Cato,” she all but growls as she plops down beside her sister. The brutish man scowls at her but thankfully doesn’t fight her, instead giving Prim a sly wink before he slides out of the round booth to lumber into the crowd.

Prim pouts at Katniss. “Was that really necessary?” she whines. Katniss has to struggle to remind herself that her sister is 18 and technically an adult.

“That guy’s an asshole. And he's too old for you!”

Prim shrugs, tipping a glass up to her mouth. “It was harmless. We were just talking.”

Katniss starts to roll her eyes, but she takes notice of the drink in Prim’s hand, her eyes narrowing. Then she takes in how flushed her sister’s pale skin is, how shiny her eyes are. How slurred her words sound. “Prim, did he give you alcohol?!” she hisses, jerking Prim’s hand down so the cup slams against the table.

Her face flushes even more, and she looks guilty. “Katniss, it’s not a big deal! I’ve drank before. Please don’t be like this—I mean, if you’re here, you can watch over me, right?” she pleads.

Katniss just stares at her, stunned, trying to process the situation. She had no idea her little sister had even touched alcohol before. She was always so good and straitlaced in school. But she does go to college halfway across the country now—Katniss supposes she shouldn’t be too surprised or upset that Prim is experimenting. It’s not like Katniss never drank underage before.

Still, her head is swimming with all the dark possibilities. Cato wouldn’t drug her, would he? He doesn’t seem that big of an asshole, but she’s seen how sleazy he is with their groupies. She doesn’t trust him.

Closing her eyes, Katniss forces herself to take a deep breath then release it. “Prim, it’s just a little stupid to drink so openly in public like this. I could get in trouble. That could screw up things for me and Peeta, or for Finnick and his band mates, if we get arrested or fined for giving alcohol to minors.”

Prim bites her lip, frowning. “It just looks like I’m drinking soda, though. I’m sure I’m not the first underage girl to drink with the guys,” she argues. “They’re famous! Bartenders wouldn’t call the police on them!”

Probably not. Katniss knows they get away with a lot, has been witness to it the last couple months. She sighs raggedly. “Fine. Just...that’s the last one, okay? Mom would kill me if I let you get drunk while I was here.”

Prim laughs and takes another greedy gulp of her drink. “Mom doesn’t ever have to know,” she says with a sluggish wink, and Katniss shakes her head, but Prim grabs her arm before she can say anything. “But can we talk again about how great you were tonight? The show was so good, Katniss! I can’t believe it! I mean, I can, but I can’t believe how well you and Peeta work together! It was mesmerizing!”

Katniss shifts uncomfortably, and her mouth twists into a frown. “Unfortunately, I know,” she mutters but still loud enough to be heard over the music. That makes Prim look at her pensively.

“Why is that so bad?”

“Because...we just don’t get along anywhere else,” Katniss explains like it’s obvious, shrugging.

“I really don’t understand why,” Prim continues, and Katniss stares at her.

“Why? Because he’s an asshole.”

Prim shakes her head, her expression hesitant. “Katniss...I really don’t see it. I mean, you two bump heads but...honestly, I think you’re the one being kind of an asshole.”

Katniss’ eyes widen. “Excuse me— _what_? _I’m_ the asshole?!” She must have heard her wrong.

But Prim looks sheepish. “Katniss, I love you, but every time I’ve seen you two interact today, well...you kind of provoke him. I don’t know if I really blame him for reacting in kind.”

Katniss can’t formulate a response, her mouth hanging open. She can’t believe her sister is taking Peeta’s side...Inexplicably, tears prick at the corner of her eyes, and she harnesses it into something angrier. “So what if I’m an asshole to him? Sure, he can act like the victim _now_ , but he’s the one who started it! You don’t understand, he—”

“He turned you down because he has a girlfriend?” Prim interjects, and Katniss flushes angrily. Without a proper retort, she clamps her mouth shut, her lips thin and white as she tries to pick her way through the jumbled thoughts and accusations in her head. It’s like wading through a field of landmines. Why do these conversations always happen when she’s been drinking? She can’t express herself properly. 

“No, that's not it,” she insists finally. Her voice sounds petulant to her own ears. “I’m not upset about being rejected—he just made me look stupid. He was flirting with me, Prim! That’s a shitty thing to do when you have a girlfriend. And he used that against me to get into my band. So yeah, sorry if that makes me _kind of an asshole_ , but I think I have the right to be, just a little bit!”

Prim wraps her arms around her, squeezing her tightly and resting her head on her shoulder. “Don’t get mad at me! I don’t want to fight with you!” She sighs. “Just forget I said anything. Your band is your business. You handle it however you think is best.”

Katniss immediately feels contrite for yelling at her sister, and she sighs, resting her head on top of Prim’s head. “Sorry. I’m not mad at you.” She’s just mad at Cato for preying on her sister.

And she's mad at Peeta for giving her beer to some random girl stroking his ego. She's mad at him for kissing her so convincingly. For confusing her even more. For making her think things she's tried so hard not to think about this entire tour.

“Come on,” she tells Prim abruptly, forcing the thoughts away and pulling Prim out of the booth. “I need to get a beer. And I don’t want Cato swooping back in the second I leave.” Prim laughs happily, their momentary tiff forgotten, and Katniss turns around toward the bar but stumbles back a step when she almost runs into Peeta.

He holds out a beer toward her. “Here.”

She blinks and takes it. “What is this?”

“I got you the beer you asked for.”

She stares at him dumbly, and he just shrugs, tapping his bottle against hers. “Cheers. Good show tonight.” He catches Prim’s eye over her shoulder and smiles, holding his beer up in acknowledgment, and then he slips back into the crowd, probably to go dance with the others.

Katniss is still staring at the beer in her hand, so Prim jabs her in the side with a pointy finger, making her jump. When she looks at her sideways, Prim leans close, a toothy, smug smile in place. “See? He’s not so bad.”

Katniss huffs, pushing against the uncomfortable feeling squirming in her stomach. “Well, he owed me,” she says with a shrug like it doesn’t matter.

But she can’t help glancing after Peeta one more time.

Damn him. Why does he confuse her so much?

Shaking her head, she gulps down half of her beer before grabbing Prim's hand, leading her in the direction Peeta disappeared. "Let's go dance," she say, surprising herself. Prim lights up.

"Really? You actually want to dance?"

Katniss grins at her. "What kind of sister would I be if I denied you the opportunity to grind on Finnick Odair?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I really hope you enjoyed the chapter! I'd love to hear your thoughts. I'm on tumblr as muttpeeta if you want to talk. Happy Holidays!


	7. Chapter 6

_Katniss stares out at the crowd. The crowd stares back. Expectant, unimpressed, unmoved. She opens her mouth to sing, but her voice falters, clotting in her throat. She clears it once, twice, but this time she can’t even bring herself to open her mouth. She just squeezes the mic tightly, staring at the audience with growing panic._

_“Katniss?”_

_She looks over at Peeta and shakes her head. “I can’t,” she whispers, stepping back from the mic stand._

_His hand cups her face suddenly, and he moves in front of her, blocking her from sight of the crowd. She’s relieved, lifting her eyes to his. “You can,” he tells her, and when she starts to shake her head again, to object, he stills her face with both hands. “Katniss.”_

_Her eyes flutter shut as she takes a tremulous breath. Peeta’s frame shields her from the hot stage lights, but she can still feel the heat emanating from him, his body so close to hers. Her lips part reflexively when he softly drags his thumbs over them, his bracketing hands still tipping her face toward his._

_“It’s just you and me right now,” he murmurs, and his callused thumb tugs at the chapped flesh of her bottom lip. He slides a hand to the back of her head, threading his fingers through her hair. When he pulls, gently, her head dips back, and her mouth falls open, her pulse beginning to thrum in her neck, right at the soft, fleshy crux of her jaw and neck. He presses his lips to the pulsing skin, laving with his tongue, scraping with his teeth._

_His other hand traces down the lines of her neck, her collarbone, blazing the path for his mouth to follow, down to the dip of her cleavage left exposed by her neckline. The pressure of his mouth sparks a familiar, insistent pressure between her thighs. She can feel, can see the muted lights pressing on her eyelids, but she keeps her eyes shut, breathing harder._

_She doesn’t start to open her eyes until the heat of him dissipates against her front, but then he’s behind her, hands and arms pinning her to his chest. His fingers deftly unloop the top button of her shirt, and she opens her eyes to look at the crowd again. Still unmoved, still waiting. Her body tenses, growing rigid in his arms._

_“Peeta—”_

_“Stop fighting this.” He undoes another button, then another. She lets him, and when he goes to slide the shirt off her shoulders, he whispers against her ear, “Trust me.”_

_Her breasts are bare to the hundreds of peering eyes, but his chest is steady behind her as he unzips her skirt, pushes it down her legs with her panties. And then she’s naked, vulnerable, and her limbs tremble, her muscles taut._

_But his hand cups her breast, thumb and finger pulling at the peaked tip. She inhales sharply, her eyes snapping shut again, and her stomach tenses as he trails the flat of his palm down, pressing against her abdomen, pressing down, splayed fingers pressing her thighs apart, opening her, so he can cup her sex. It’s pulsing, slippery with heat and need, and when his fingers push inside her, her knees nearly buckle._

_“Let me in.” A gentle thrust of his middle fingers. In. Out. Her heart beats hard against her rib cage, between her thighs, under his hands. The crowd disappears. All that exists are slick, hot fingers pushing inside her, stroking her folds, her clit, pulling at her nipple. The pressure building inside her, flushing her body with prickling heat, leaking between her thighs._

_“Katniss.” His voice is a flutter of air on her neck, a plea and a command. She can’t catch her breath, everything living and dying at his fingertips between her thighs. Slow and purposeful, but the pleasure is careening through her, hurtling, fast, unstoppable, and then she’s coming, god she’s coming—_

Her eyes snap open, a surprised moan catching in her throat. Her heart thunders in her ears, under her ribs, and her clit throbs, pulses, making her entire body shudder and lurch with the fading vestiges of her orgasm. She clenches her eyes shut, managing to bite her tongue, to swallow the sounds of pleasure, her harsh breaths.

Once the pleasure fades to a dull ache, Katniss rolls her face into her pillow to try to catch her breath, to wrap her mind around what just happened.

She just climaxed in her sleep. That’s never happened before, not quite. Sex dreams aren’t unusual for her, but she normally wakes up before she can actually come.

Sex dreams _with Peeta_ are definitely unusual.

Her mind is still spinning, trying to catch up. Why the _hell_ is she dreaming about him? Thinking about him fingering her on stage to a live audience? What the fuck is wrong with her?

It’s that stupid kiss. That stupid, fake music video kiss.

Frustrated—but obnoxiously physically sated—Katniss rolls onto her back, craning her neck to look at Peeta in his bed a few feet across the room. Thankfully, if she'd made any noises in her sleep, he hadn’t heard them. In fact, he looks dead to the world, sprawled out on his stomach, his face turned toward her, half-buried in his pillow as he sleeps. His bare back rises and falls with his slow, even breaths.

Peaceful. Completely unbothered and unaffected.

Obviously _not_ afflicted with unwanted sex dreams.

The sight agitates her, her already heated blood growing hotter, and she pushes to a sitting position, flinging the covers off her. Her knees are shaky when she stands, but she snatches her pillow off the bed with both hands, lifts it over her head, and brings it down on his head with a satisfying _thwack_.

He jerks awake instantly, rolling onto his side as he lifts his head, squints blearily at her, confused, bewildered. “What the fuck?” he grunts, his voice raw with sleep.

Satisfied, Katniss flings her pillow back onto her bed and levels him with a glower. “You snore too loud,” she croaks, stomping around her bed to the bathroom. Before she shuts the door behind her, Peeta’s frustrated growl of “ _God dammit Katniss!”_ follows her.

She huffs as she plops down on the side of the tub to turn on the shower, closing her eyes with a deep sigh. _God dammit Katniss,_ indeed _._

* * *

After leaving California, they play a show in Portland, Oregon, then it's on to Washington state. They’ve got two shows in Seattle; for some reason, The Peacekeepers have a huge following in that area, and the first show sold out in 15 minutes, so they added a second show for the following night. Since they’ll be in Seattle for three days, Plutarch insisted Katniss and Peeta clock some more time in one of his studios there to fasttrack the album.

That means they have to leave immediately after their Portland show; they don't even get to stay through The Peacekeepers' set. As soon as they arrive in Seattle three hours later, Haymitch hustles them into the studio. Katniss and Peeta record songs all night, all morning and nearly half the afternoon with only limited nap and food breaks before Haymitch finally releases them from the studio. They head straight to their hotel room to pass out. Thankfully, the first show isn’t till tomorrow, so they get a chance to recharge.

Katniss stirs from her nap hours later, disoriented when she realizes it’s dark out. Rolling onto her stomach, she fumbles her phone off the nightstand and sees that it’s only 9 p.m. She considers going back to sleep, even burrows back into her pillow and under the covers, but then the insistence pressure in her bladder ignites her awareness. With a groan, she sits up, only then seeing that Peeta’s bed is empty. He must have woken up and left at some point during her mini coma.

After using the bathroom, Katniss briefly debates what she should do before deciding on a workout. If she can’t sleep any longer, she might as well do something productive.

Hastily peeling off her skinny jeans and loose t-shirt she’d fallen asleep in, she slips on her black compression leggings, a sports bra and a tight-fitting tank. Then she laces up her running sneakers, grabs her phone, earbuds, keycard and water bottle and heads out of the room to take an elevator to the top floor. Pushing open the gym door, she notes, with a hint of dismay, someone else is also there using one of the treadmills.

She stops a split second later when she realizes it’s Peeta.

Damn.  

He notices her then, his eyes shifting to her frozen figure at the door, preventing her from beating a hasty retreat unseen.

“I didn’t know you were here,” she says lamely, and though she means it in apology, it sounds defensive, accusatory even to her own ears.

He shrugs. “You can stay. It’s fine.” The rhythm of his words is barely affected by his exertion, just a slight huff of air punctuating each sentence.

Katniss hesitates. They never workout at the same time. She prefers solitary exercise. If there are others around, strangers, she normally just ignores them. Their presence is fine as long as she doesn’t have to talk to anybody. She supposes she can just pretend Peeta is a stranger...but he’s not. She shares a sleeping space with him everyday. There’s something too intimate in working out with him nearby. Almost like they’re...friends.

Reluctantly, she drags herself to one of the treadmills, leaving two empty ones between her and Peeta. She pops in her earbuds. Thankfully, he has his in too, and the TV on the wall across the room is on, so his attention is diverted. After plugging in her stats into the treadmill, she selects an upbeat song on her phone and starts running, keeping her eyes trained on the TV as well.

For the first few minutes or so, it’s awkward. She’s a little too aware of his presence, even 10 feet away from her. But soon she forces her attention onto her music, making sure her feet slap against the treadmill in sync with the beats per minute, and then her mind slips away, lost in the cadence of her stride, the randomness of her thoughts.

After about 30 minutes, she’s jarred back to the moment when Peeta slows to a stop on his treadmill and steps off it. Relieved, she thinks he’s going to leave, but instead he grabs his stuff and wanders over to the weights.

She’s curious, despite herself, wanting to know what his gym routine is. Does he run and lift weights every time? Does he do legs one day, then arms the next, then core?

Idly, she watches him adjust the weights on a barbell. Her eyes widen when she sees the number of weights he stacks on each end. She has no idea how much each weighs individually, but together it looks like a lot. No wonder he’s so...broad.

He sits down on the bench, straddling it, and hovers over his phone for a minute, like he’s scrolling through his music. His gray shirt clings to him in patches of sweat, his blond curls darkened with perspiration around his hairline. Once he finds what he wants on his phone, he lies down, shifts around to get comfortable. Then, he grabs the bar and starts bench pressing.

She’s momentarily mesmerized, getting lost in the flex of his forearm muscles and the bicep muscles that strain against his short sleeves. She counts the reps, watching the steady rise and fall of the bar above his chest. Five, six, seven, eight…

A troubling pull low in her belly catches her off guard. She gives her head a sharp shake and averts her eyes back to the TV, a frown line pinching her brows together. She lets out a huff of air and increases the speed of her treadmill, making her legs pump faster, harder, forcing herself to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other so she won’t be tempted to gawk at him.

But once she gradually finds her rhythm again, her gaze drifts back over to him, unbidden. When he’s done with the bench, he grabs some free weights. She repeatedly glances back at him with every new exercise he does. Bicep curls, tricep extensions, shoulder presses, lateral raises, moves she doesn’t know the names of.

She breathes a sigh of relief when he finally sets the weights down, her face flushed far beyond what her daily exertion on the treadmill normally warrants, but when he peels off his shirt to wipe at the sweat on his face, she jabs angrily at the treadmill buttons to turn it off.

She’s run long enough.

Panting through her nose, hawkishly staring at the TV screen, she slows to a walk and then an eventual stop on her treadmill before hopping down to walk to an open area in a corner so she can stretch. She’d leave immediately, but she’s already learned the hard way the importance of stretching after a long run. Otherwise she’ll be too stiff to move on stage tomorrow.

With her back to Peeta, she changes her music to a slower-tempo playlist and does some basic leg stretches before moving into the yoga poses Finnick taught her before a show one night. He’s surprisingly flexible for a man. Then again, maybe not so surprising since she’s seen the way he slinks around the stage every night. Katniss was never patient enough for yoga before going on tour, but she’s learned it helps relax her before each show. Sometimes, afterward, too, if they’re being corralled into the van for an exhausting, cramped, hours-long drive to the next stop.

She moves seamlessly from cobra pose to downward dog, holding the form for a moment until she floats to forward fold. She hugs her arms around her legs, pressing her chest as close to her shins as she can, and she holds the pose for a minute. Her eyes flutter open and absently glide toward Peeta’s reflection in the mirrors that line the wall across from her.

She blinks when she sees that he’s watching her in the mirror too, even as he lifts the free weights over his head. She freezes, afraid she’s been caught staring, but then she realizes he hasn’t noticed. Her eyes are only afforded a glimpse of him through the narrow space between her calves, her face otherwise concealed.

He’s still watching her.

It takes a second longer for her to register that his line of sight is fixed on her ass.

She jerks up to a standing position, her cheeks burning. She starts to step toward the door but thinks better of it and forces herself to quickly, halfheartedly stretch out her arms too so it’s not obvious she’s abruptly ending her stretches.

Rolling her shoulders, she grabs her keycard and water bottle from the treadmill before pivoting on her foot toward the exit, not risking any more glances in Peeta’s direction. She slams through the door and walks briskly to the elevator bank. The music in her ears is just a cacophony of senseless sounds and words, her heartbeat beating a fast staccato in her rib cage despite the cool-down stretching, and she finally yanks the earbuds out and slaps at the down button. The shiny steel doors reflect her scowl back at her, splitting the grimace grotesquely when the elevator slides open a second later.

She’s glad nobody else joins her on the elevator as she rides it down to her floor. She’s agitated, her dewy skin uncomfortably flushed and itchy, and she’s pissed, disjointed, flustered, though she’s not sure why exactly.

That he was ogling her. That he was doing it when he has a girlfriend. That he’s denied any attraction to her when she’s called him on it.

All of it. But mostly she’s pissed at herself for the currents of pleasure that had rippled through her when she realized he was checking her out.

The same way she’d been checking him out.

* * *

Katniss has to practically jog just to keep up with Peeta’s long strides as he crosses 2nd Avenue. She huffs when she finally falls in step beside him. “Slow down,” she gripes, throwing a skewering glance at the approaching Toyota Prius to make sure it actually brakes instead of barreling through them.

Peeta looks at her askew, quirking an eyebrow. “Do you need me to hold your hand while we cross the street?”

“Shut up.”

She knows he wants to smirk by the way his lips tighten.

“How do you know we’re going the right way?” she asks, because he hasn’t looked at a map or his phone since they left their hotel. He insisted the Pike Brewing Company was just a few blocks away.

“Because I’ve been here before,” he says dismissively, surprising her. He hadn’t mentioned that earlier. Katniss pulls her phone out to track their progress anyway, grudgingly acknowledging they are in fact heading the right way. A moment later, Peeta turns the corner onto 1st Avenue and looks back at her. “See?”

When she clears the side of the building at the intersection, she squints and cranes her neck to see past the trees and shrubbery lining the sidewalk. She can just make out the bright glare of the bar sign. Suddenly, she’s hurrying past him, catching the tail end of the wave of pedestrians as they cross to the other side of the street.

“Slow down,” he says mockingly when he catches up, which really takes him no time at all. She just shoots him a halfhearted glare because she’s too excited to see Madge and Gale to actually be annoyed with him right now. Since the couple lives in the Seattle area now, she and Peeta are meeting up with them for lunch prior to the show tonight. She hasn’t seen her friends in months now, not since they moved away before The Victors went on tour. Not since they got engaged a couple weeks ago.

When they duck inside the bar, Peeta holds the door open for her by reaching over her head to grab it as she swings it open. She smiles politely at the hostess and moves off to the side to do a cursory sweep of the place, looking for Madge’s blonde curls or Gale’s black bun. Peeta’s just informing the hostess that they’re looking for friends when Katniss spots them, and she beelines for their booth, erupting into a grin when she catches Madge’s eye.

Madge practically leaps out of the booth and onto Katniss, squealing happily as they embrace, clinging to each other. “Oh my god, you look so good!” Madge gushes, and Katniss pushes back to smile at her.

“Me? Look at you. Engagement certainly does you well. Wait, let me see it,” she demands, and Madge holds out her left hand to showcase the beautiful yellow sapphire engagement ring. It’s huge, obnoxiously so.

Katniss narrows her eyes skeptically and frowns, lifting her critical eye to Gale. “That’s it?” she asks blandly, and he scoffs as he stands up, the familiar sound breaking Katniss’ facade immediately. She laughs and reaches out to hug him too when he holds his arms out. He nearly pulls her off her feet, he’s so tall.

“Good to see you too, Catnip,” he grunts, grinning down at her once he releases her. Madge wends around the two of them to grab at Peeta, standing on her tiptoes to hug his neck.

“Congratulations,” he tells her then nods at Gale as they shake hands next. Gale smiles faintly in response. They’re still not really friends. He can probably hold a grudge longer than Katniss can, but she knows, for Madge’s sake, he’ll at least be civil to her cousin.

Madge and Gale sit back down in their booth, and Katniss and Peeta slide into the booth seat opposite them. Two golden ales already sit on the table in front of Madge and Gale, and Katniss grabs the beer menu to look at the choices.

“Get the IPA. You’ll like it,” Peeta tells her. She looks at him, skeptical, but he’s already looking through the food menu. He must have picked up on her penchant for IPAs somewhere along the way. Have they really spent that much time together?

A short, thick-necked server comes around to take their drink orders then. Katniss asks for the IPA, and Peeta gets a stout.

“Is this on the same tab?” the server asks, and Katniss’ eyes snap up to his, suddenly realizing what this must look like. Two couples on a double date.

“We’re not together,” she blurts, perhaps a little too loudly. The server just nods, trying not to laugh, and says he’ll be right back with their beers.

Peeta shoots her a wry look. “A little louder next time, I don’t think the cooks in the back heard you.”

She scowls  to herself and hastily snatches up a food menu to hide her embarrassment, but she looks over at Madge, pasting a bright smile on her face. “Have you set a date for the wedding yet?” she asks.

Madge and Gale look at each other, their pleasure at their engagement written all over their faces. It’s cute, in a really disgusting kind of way. “Next summer sometime, we think,” she replies, taking a sip of her beer before continuing. “We’re looking at venues, but we’re still not really familiar with the area yet.” She turns her blue eyes on Peeta then, tentative, hopeful. “I was wondering if you could talk to your parents and see if they had any suggestions.”

Confused, Katniss looks at Peeta. His expression is wary, and he clears his throat. “Yeah, I guess I could call my dad and ask him for recommendations.”

“Your parents live here?” Katniss asks.

He nods, keeping his attention on the menu, but Madge answers for him. “You didn’t tell her you’re from here?”

Katniss is still staring at him, not sure why this news bothers her—no, why the fact he didn’t tell her bothers her. Why wouldn’t he mention that?

Peeta shrugs. “We don’t have a lot of heart to hearts,” he replies like it’s just that simple, but she doesn’t think she’s imagining the edge belying his words. She makes a noise, something between a scoff and a sound of protest.

“Letting your bandmate know we’re playing a show in your hometown isn’t really deep stuff,” she says.

The server returns with their beers, disappearing again when they tell him they still need a minute to decide on food. Peeta takes a swig of his stout, licking the foam off his upper lip, before he responds, “My parents own a bakery. I know I’ve told you that, at least. They make a lot of wedding cakes, and they have contracts with a lot of wedding venues around here.”

There’s something off in his tone. There’s something wrong here, period, something Katniss is missing.

“Are they coming to the show?” she asks. 

“No.”

Katniss doesn’t miss the sympathetic look on Madge’s face, and she glances between the two of them, waiting. When she doesn’t get further explanation, she prompts, “Why not?”

He sighs. “They don’t support my music career. At least, my mom doesn’t. My dad’s just...disappointed with my life choices, and he goes along with whatever my mom decides.”

Katniss’ eyes go wide. “But...you’re an accomplished musician. You’re in a band. I mean, we’re on tour. We’re signed to a major record company!” she sputters indignantly, but he merely shrugs again. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he didn’t care. But she can see the tension in his shoulders, his back, his jaw, even as he idly peruses the menu like he’s unconcerned.

Katniss looks up at Madge with her large eyes, and her friend purses her lips in a sad smile. Gale’s eyes are furrowed in consternation, like he doesn’t really understand it either. Like he might actually feel bad for the guy, too.

It’s not something either of them can really comprehend. Katniss and Gale have always had the support of their families in their musical endeavors. In anything they decide to do. While Katniss’ mother never understood music the way her daughter and husband did, Katniss knows her mother plans to see their show once they’re back in her home state, assuming she can get off work from the hospital.

She’s struggling with something to say, but the server returns then to take their food orders. Flustered, Katniss tells the others to go first. She’s barely looked at the menu yet, but she just orders a chicken sandwich and fries when it’s her turn, the first item that jumps out at her.

Once the server’s gone, Madge speaks again. “Is Rye coming?” One of his brothers, Katniss knows that much, at least.

Peeta nods, sitting back in the booth. “Yeah, he lives in Spokane. He’ll get here before the show.”

Katniss frowns at her beer, her mind still reeling. His parents sound atrocious. Maybe she shouldn’t be so shocked he’s never talked about them before. Even if they were better friends, better bandmates. She takes a long sip of her beer, the cool, hoppy taste igniting her tastebuds, and after she sets her pint glass down, she licks her lips to relish the clinging drops of beer. Peeta was right about the IPA.

“How are you liking your new job?” Peeta asks, clearly wanting to steer the conversation away from himself, into more neutral conversation. He looks from Madge to Gale and amends, “Both of you?”

They listen while Madge and Gale take turns describing their new workplaces, the marketing firm she works for and the new auto garage he found a position at once they moved here. They in turn ask for details about the music video they filmed, confused when Katniss and Peeta grow awkward in their reticence. Neither wants to talk about the kiss. Right now it’s easy to pretend it never happened.

“It’s still in post,” Katniss finally offers. She kinda wishes it would stay there. “I guess it’ll be out soon. I’ll let you know.”

Madge then asks about the tour and the show at The Showbox at the Market, digging for salacious tidbits on the members of The Peacekeepers.

“So...what about Darius?” she eventually asks, her lips tipping to the side in a knowing smirk. Katniss feels her entire face bloom with heat at her friend’s suggestive question.

“What about him?” she deflects, cursing Madge for asking this question _now_. Cursing herself for ever telling her friend about Darius in the first place.

Madge eyes her, on the verge of outright grinning. “I mean, he’s interested in you, right?”

Katniss shoots daggers at Madge over the rim of her beer. “No—”

“Yes.”

Katniss’ eyes cut sharply to Peeta at his matter-of-fact answer. He catches her glare and rolls his eyes. “He is. Come on, you two flirt all the time.”

She has to fight the visceral impulse to squirm in her seat. This entire conversation makes her want to slide under the table and roll out the door. “They all flirt,” Katniss insists, hating how red she knows her cheeks must look at this point. “I’m the only one with tits and a vagina. And isn’t married to Finnick.”

“But Darius means it,” Peeta says, his voice flat as he lets his gaze drift over the bar in apparent disinterest.

Why is he even commenting on her and Darius? What business is it of his? The question is almost out of her mouth when Gale’s groan interrupts her. “Oh god.” She looks over at him, and he gives her a look. “Please tell me you’re not going to start hooking up with a Peacekeeper.”

Her embarrassment and bemusement quickly shift to annoyance. She narrows her eyes at him. “So what if I do?”

He shakes his head, his eyebrow cocked. “The opening act and the rockstar. The only way it could be more cliched is if you were a groupie,” he says drolly, but his tone isn’t as harsh as his words. She knows her best friend well enough to know he’s only giving her a hard time.

Still, she feels insulted. “Fuck you, Gale,” she says, folding her arms over her chest. “I’m not a groupie, or a cliche. I’m a professional, and I’m doing a job. Why the hell am I getting the third degree here? I just wanted to catch up with my friends, who I haven’t seen in months.”

“Sorry,” Madge offers immediately, the chagrin heavy in her grimace. She shoots Gale a scolding look, then looks back to Katniss. “I just genuinely wanted to know. I think it's cool. But we don’t have to talk about it.”

Gale holds up his hand in a peace-offering gesture. Peeta doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t expect him to apologize. For once, he’s not the one who pissed her off.

Thankfully the food arrives at that moment, easing the tension of the conversation, and Katniss snatches up her pint glass and downs half of her beer before she even starts eating.

* * *

She decides to let it go. She doesn’t see her friends often enough to make it worth holding onto her anger toward them for the rest of their visit. Gale can be a dick sometimes, but she knows Madge means well, at least. So after they leave the bar, Katniss and Peeta lead them over to The Showbox to take them backstage so they can hang out before soundcheck.

When they introduce them to The Peacekeepers, Katniss watches their faces closely, warning heavy in her death glare, but Madge and Gale are pleasant and smile innocently when they shake hands with Darius. She sneaks a glance at Peeta too, but he’s talking with Finnick and Cato.

Escorted by Haymitch, Peeta’s brother shows up after The Victors’ soundcheck, looking like a near carbon copy of Peeta with his blond hair, blue eyes and wide stature. After the reveal about his parents, Katniss isn’t sure what to expect of Rye. But the moment he swaggers in, a wide grin on his face as he scopes out the place, she knows he doesn’t share his parents’ disdain for his brother’s career choice.

“It’s good to see you, little bro,” Rye says as they hug tightly and clap each other on the back. They’re practically the same height, and when they pull apart, his blue eyes mirror Peeta’s in appraisal. “Thought we’d only ever get to see you once a year at Christmas.”

“I’m sure that’s how mom would prefer it,” Peeta answers dryly. The loud echoes of The Peacekeepers’ soundcheck through the walls muffle their conversation.

“Hell, I kinda envy you for that,” Rye laughs, but then he spots Madge. “Hey, long time no see, cuz!”

She laughs when he sweeps her into a hug. She introduces him to Gale, and they exchange pleasantries and well wishes on the engagement. Rye’s eyes land on Katniss next, and she raises her eyebrows in greeting.

“Katniss, yeah?” he asks.

Peeta answers for her. “This would be my lovely bandmate who hates my guts, yes.” Shaking Rye’s hand, Katniss rolls her eyes to Peeta in exasperation. His smile is bland, daring her to object.

“Not true,” she says when she releases Rye’s hand. “Not about the lovely part, anyway.” Rye chuckles.

“True,” Peeta agrees. “I’ve seen you in the mornings.”

The rest laugh, but she just flips him off.

* * *

After the show, they all head to Foundation Nightclub for the after-party. “Since you’ve got a girlfriend and all, you can send all the groupies you can’t fuck my way,” Rye tells Peeta, who snorts as the bouncer directs them inside.

“We’re not famous enough to have groupies. So you’re gonna have to rely on your own charm to get laid. Good luck with that.”

Their large group is taken to the VIP section, a corner of sectional couches wrapped around a table. Finnick immediately grabs a bottle of champagne from the ice bucket and pops it open, causing Annie to squeal when the bubbly foam cascades down the glass neck and splatters at their feet. A server brings around trays stacked with empty glasses, and they all take one. Finnick dutifully fills everyone’s cups, and they toast to a great show and better company.

Katniss just wants to collapse on one of the couches, the show more draining than usual, but Madge begs her to dance with her. So she knocks back all of her champagne and lets her friend drag her out to the crowded dance floor. Annie joins them, and the three of them dance through the next song, and then the song after that, until they’re sweaty and laughing.

Gale and Finnick bring their significant others drinks at some point and linger to insinuate themselves into the pulsating mass of bodies. Gale snakes an arm around Madge’s waist from behind, and Finnick spins his wife around to dip her. With her friends distracted, Katniss turns around to maneuver her way to the bar, but she finds Darius in front of her, a beer bottle held out in offering.

“Thought you might be thirsty,” he says with a grin.

“Oh. Thanks!” She smiles, tapping her bottle to his before she takes a greedy swallow. It’s a pale lager, which isn’t her first choice of drink, but she drinks it anyway. She turns back around to keep dancing, startling briefly when Darius moves up behind her, his free hand sliding around her hip.

He sways with her, his chest to her back, his groin a cradle for her ass. They’ve danced together before, though not quite so intimately as this, and it takes a moment for Katniss to relax, for her limbs to loosen against him. She looks over at Madge, who smirks knowingly at her. Mercifully, Gale doesn’t seem to have noticed, his face buried in his fiance’s neck.

Finally, Katniss lets herself smile at Madge and shrug. She likes dancing with Darius. Likes him pressed against her like this, likes the feel of him hardening slightly against her ass when she pushes back into him. It’s nice to feel desired, to feel a mutual attraction pumping hot through her veins.

So she dances with him and drinks her beer. She twists around at some point so they can dance face to face, grinding against each other. Finnick interrupts briefly at one point to ask if they want drinks, and then again when he brings them a round of shots and more beers. After sucking down the shots, Katniss and Darius resume dancing.

At some point, he kisses her. His tongue is hot in her mouth, and he tastes like hops and Red Bull and whatever fruity liquor was in the shot. His hand cups her ass, pulling her tighter against him, and she wraps her arms around his shoulders. It feels good. He tastes good. Her head swims, and she feels a dull pulse between her thighs every time their tongues brush across each other's.

They eventually wander back over to the VIP couches, Gale and Madge in tow. Peeta, Rye, Thresh and Cato are there with a few other people. A couple girls are practically laid out on Thresh’s lap and another is sucking on Cato’s ear. Rye’s got his hand on a blonde’s thigh as they lean in close and whisper to each other, and Peeta’s talking with a brunette and a guy who must be her boyfriend, judging by the arm wrapped possessively around her shoulder.

Katniss drops down on the couch opposite them, scooting farther in when Darius slides in beside her, Gale and Madge bringing up the rear. Darius drapes his arm around Katniss’ shoulder, tucking her into his side.

Peeta glances over at them, and she doesn’t mean to look at him, doesn’t want to, but she catches the flash of surprise over his face. His eyebrows lift, but he wipes the astonishment away quickly, turning his head back to the brunette and her territorial boyfriend. Then he’s laughing at something they say, the sound strained.

Darius’ lips glance across her neck, and her face flushes hot. Katniss takes a deep pull from her beer and pivots in the seat so she can talk to Madge and Gale over the top of Darius’ head. He finally pulls away to settle back against the couch, and she’s relieved. Kissing on the dance floor is one thing, but in front of her tourmates and friends is too much.

* * *

Around 2 a.m., they head out of the club and cram themselves into Ubers that take them to the hotel, save for Madge and Gale. He corrals his sleepy fiancee into a separate Uber to take them back home.

Rye comes back to the hotel with them since he bought his own room to crash in for the night. Katniss and Peeta say goodnight to him in the elevator when they get off on their floor, and Katniss drags her hand along the wall to help steady herself.

Peeta opens their room door, gesturing for her to go first. “Go on, drunkie,” he says, but his cheeks are also flushed, his eyes bright, his words faintly slurred.

“Fuck you,” she replies airily as she passes him, but she doesn’t mean it. “I’m not that drunk.” Of course, when she bends down over her bag of clothes, she nearly topples forward. “Ugh.”

He laughs and moves around her toward his bed. She steadies herself on the dresser they never use in these hotel rooms because what’s the point of unpacking your stuff when you just have to leave the next day?

“At least I didn’t have to be carried out of the club like Madge,” she says in her defense. She’s developed quite an alcohol tolerance after nearly three months on tour. Which is inevitable when you hang out with a band like The Peacekeepers, who drink and party every night they’re not on the road.

“I’m surprised you weren’t. I thought Darius was going to throw you over his shoulder and drag you out of there.” Peeta says this flippantly, his back to her as he digs through his own duffel bag.

She jerks up straight, sways slightly, her pajamas clutched in her hand as she stares at his back. “What?” she asks, sounding more indignant than she means to.

“You two looked cozy, s'all. I’m surprised you didn’t go back to his room with him.”

She gapes at him, and he finally looks up at her in her prolonged silence. His face is unreadable, even when he’s been drinking. Or maybe she’s just too drunk to read it. There’s nothing in his voice that hints at anything. Uncomfortable heat flares inside her chest, and she can’t think up a fitting response.

Peeta shrugs indifferently and fishes his phone out of his pocket to look at it before adding, “I just figured you’d love a night where you didn’t have to share a room with me.”

Her brow pinches together. “Why the hell is everyone suddenly so interested in who I may or may not be sleeping with?”

He scoffs. “I’m not asking for the smutty details, Everdeen. Relax.”

Now she looks at him incredulously, amused even. “What do you know about smut?”

“Please. I’m not a rube. I pay attention to pop culture.”

She huffs as he plugs his phone into the charger. She thinks randomly of the night at the gym, the way he’d been looking at her when he didn’t think she was looking. Suddenly, the urge to needle him is there, to taunt him, to press on whatever vulnerability she can find like a bruise. “Maybe next time he asks me back to his room, I _will_ take him up on that offer,” she says haughtily. Darius hadn’t actually asked her back to his room tonight, but Peeta doesn’t need to know that.

Peeta doesn’t look up right away, but she sees his mouth pucker before he flattens it back out. When he does look at her, his expression is impassive. “You do that. It’ll be nice to not be woken up by your snoring for once.”

Her mouth parts, but when no retort comes quick enough, she kicks her shoe off at him instead. Peeta bats it away before it can connect with his chest and laughs. “Did you really just kick your shoe at me?”

She spins on her bare heel to stomp to the bathroom. “I’m getting ready for bed.”

“Wait. I gotta piss first,” he calls after her.

“Too late, Mellark.”

“Come on! You take for fucking ever in the bathroom!”

Katniss shoots him a brief glare over her shoulder. “You should’ve pissed when we came in. You know my nightly routine by now.”

She’s almost into the bathroom when Peeta practically hurdles her bed to reach her, yanking her out of the doorway. His arms wrap around her waist and pull her back against his chest, hefting her off the ground as he spins her around. She gasps, dumbfounded, only managing to comprehend what he’s doing just as he deposits her outside the bathroom.

“Hey!” she yells as he backs into the bathroom, but the door shuts in her face.

“I’ll only be like 10 seconds!” he yells through it.

She kicks the door. “Dick!” she shouts. The sound of his piss hitting the toilet water is the only response she gets. “Gross, I can hear you!”

“Well, don’t stand there and listen!” His muffled response is indignant.

She folds her arms over her chest and cocks her hip to wait impatiently. She hears the toilet flush, then the sink running, and a moment later the door swings open and Peeta fills the doorway.

“That was like _30_ seconds,” she points out, not budging from her spot when he shoulders past her, and he shoots her a look.

“I guess I didn’t _have_ to wash my hands, if you would’ve preferred.”

She rolls her eyes and strides into the bathroom. With the door shut, she drops her pajamas on the counter and flips the faucet on, getting it hot so she can wash her face.

Her heart is racing, her skin buzzing. The delayed awareness of his arms around her as he picked her up, his chest pressed firmly to her back, his arms pinning hers to her sides, is like a hot spike through her gut. With a start, she realizes she’s not actually annoyed with Peeta. The humming in her veins isn’t anger. The unsettling feeling rekindles the unfortunately still-vivid vestiges of her dream, when he stood behind on her on stage and expertly manipulated her body to an all-too real orgasm.

Abruptly, Katniss cranks the water to cold and douses her face to cool off and to banish the memory.

God damn post-show adrenaline.

* * *

Katniss shifts anxiously in the driver’s seat, trying to stretch and flex her legs without easing off the accelerator. Why the hell couldn’t Plutarch have given them a van with cruise control? She pouts miserably at the black road that rolls endlessly ahead of her, which she can just barely see over the hood.

This is why she hates driving this damn thing. Especially at night. Haymitch had driven them out of Washington after their last show in Seattle, but then he’d stopped at a gas station, grabbed a questionable burrito and a pack of smokes, and told her to take over driving duties since Peeta was passed out in the passenger seat. She’d debated waking him up to make him drive but figured she needed to pull her weight around from time to time on these excruciating trips.

Now Haymitch is passed out in the back, and Peeta is awake. He’s grabbed his guitar from the seat behind him and plays on it aimlessly as they drive in otherwise silence—save for Haymitch’s occasional snores. Katniss turned off her music a while ago so Peeta can do whatever he’s doing. Sometimes she's capable of being nice to him.

After a while she tunes into what he’s playing, realizing he has an actual melody strung together that he keeps playing, but she doesn’t recognize it, either as one of their own or someone else’s.

She glances at him from the corner of her eye, sees his face creased in concentration, deep in thought, as his fingers slide along the strings. She frowns as she struggles to place the tune.

“What’s that?” she finally asks.

“Just a melody I had in my head,” he says absently, still playing.

“Any lyrics?” she asks after a moment, but he shakes his head.

“Not yet. Nothing’s coming to me. You can give it a shot if you want.”

She focuses her attention back on the road, listening to the song, thinking. He stops and starts a few times, perfecting the notes. It’s a really pretty song, what he's got so far. She starts humming along, picking up the melody almost unconsciously. But then her mind starts piecing together words, like it’s working out a puzzle.

She waits until he gets to a certain refrain before she opens her mouth to sing. Soft and quiet, so he can just hear her, and as soon as the first note leaves her mouth, his head jerks up, though his fingers don’t falter on the strings.

 _“I thought I knew I’d find you_  
_Right in front of my eyes_  
_Oh, it’s holding me down_  
_And, oh, it’s holding me down_ _  
To let you inside now.”_

She pauses, anticipating the rhythmic shift in the melody, before continuing,

 _"And all along the way,_  
_I’ll find you, I’ll find you_  
_And all along the way,_  
_I’ll find you, I’ll find you_ _  
And lay you down.”_

She stops there because that’s as much as she’s worked out. Peeta’s fingers eventually go still on the strings once he realizes she’s done. She can feel his eyes on her, and she refuses to look at him, not yet. Finally, she can’t take it, and she gives him a sidelong peek.

“What?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. I liked it,” he says quietly. He begins strumming again, and in the silence she can tell he’s thinking, his mind spinning even harder now. Her words seem to have gotten the ball rolling because after only a couple minutes, he starts singing too, adding his own verse.

 _“Even though you can’t touch me_  
_I’m right there under your skin_  
_And I’ve fallen in love before_ _  
But with no one with a name, not anymore.”_

Katniss’ hands tighten around the steering wheel, her throat growing inexplicably tight as she listens, and she has to swallow hard to get past the lump. The lyrics make her skin prickle, and she’s not sure she likes it.

Peeta keeps singing, repeating the chorus she’d established, his voice growing a little louder, more raw.

 _“And all along the way,_  
_I’ll find you, I’ll find you,_  
_Along the way,_  
_I’ll find you, I’ll find you,_  
_And all along the way,_  
_I’ll find you, I’ll find you,_ _  
And lay you down.”_

Once he’s quiet again, Katniss realizes her eyes are dry, burning, from staring too long out the windshield. She makes herself blink rapidly and takes slow, even breaths until her heart isn’t fluttering against her ear drums anymore. Feeling the phlegm stuck in her throat, she clears it so she can speak.

“You should sing lead more on some of the new songs,” she tells him quietly. She can tell she’s surprised him because his hands go still on the guitar. She licks her lips, lifting her shoulder in a nonchalant shrug, like granting him this doesn’t kill her, just a little. “I think...certain verses would work better with you singing.”

Peeta inhales and releases it loudly, mulling over her words. “You sure?”

She only nods at first, rolling her lips together, trying to keep the sourness off her face. Then her mouth curls ironically at one corner.

“I’m sure at least half our fanbase would prefer it anyway,” she says, but she must say it a little too petulantly because she sees him frown from the corner of his eye.

“That’s not true.”

He can argue all he wants, but Katniss isn’t naive. She knows a large part of their appeal, at least with the people in the audience every night, is him. America loses its collective shit over any attractive male who can play a guitar and sing halfway decently, but Peeta’s got the talent and the charm to back it up. Their largely female fanbase isn’t creaming itself over her.

Peeta sighs roughly after a pause, shaking his head. “You still don’t get it,” he mutters. “The effect you have.”

She frowns now too, confused at his comment. Tries to parse the meaning, whether he’s insulting her or complimenting her. She doesn’t know, doesn’t understand what kind of effect he thinks she has.

For some reason, she's too afraid to ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song by Matt Corby, "Lay You Down."
> 
> Thank you for reading! I'm on tumblr as muttpeeta if you want to talk.


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for those who've taken the time to review or send me messages about this story! I hope to have more time with this chapter to respond to your thoughtful comments and questions, I really enjoy hearing what you guys think. And I hope you guys can stick out this slow burn with me a little while longer...

_“I knew you were trouble when you walked in…”_

Katniss hums along to the song blaring from her phone as she tilts her head back into the spray of water, rinsing out the hotel’s complimentary shampoo. Something with avocado and basil. It smells surprisingly good. She squirts some of the matching conditioner into her palm and smoothes it through her wet locks, then lathers her body with the bar of soap before letting the water wash away the suds and conditioner.

Cutting off the shower, Katniss slides the curtain back and rings the water out of her hair. She grabs a scratchy towel and climbs out of the tub to dry off. After weeks on the road, her skin has become blessedly resistant to starchy hotel towels. While she’s blotting her hair dry with the towel, she picks up her phone from the counter to scroll through her music.

 _“Now I’m lying on the cold hard ground, oh,”_ she sings distractedly, thumbing through her collection of Taylor Swift songs. She’s in a Taylor Swift kind of mood, and Peeta’s not in the room this morning, so she can listen to the singer without fear of judgment. She settles on a song from the singer’s “1989” album next.

While the song plays, she secures the towel tightly around her body. The mirror is fogged, so she opens the bathroom door to let out the humid air then wipes away some of the condensation so she can do her makeup. They’re on their way to Denver next, and they’ll be holed up in the van for the next few hours, so there’s no reason to get too fancy. But tour life is wreaking havoc on her complexion. And that’s saying nothing about the dark circles under her eyes.

In the clear spot in the mirror, Katniss stipples concealer under her eyes and on the pimple on her chin before smoothing it in. Then she dusts some foundation over her face and grabs the eyeliner next, leaning over the counter to get as close to the mirror as possible.

Her phone’s playing “Style” now. Her favorite. As she lines her right top lid, she starts singing along to the song, a little louder than before, unable to resist rocking her hips to the beat, just enough to not disturb the steady glide of her eyeliner pencil.

 _“So it goes_  
_He can’t keep his wild eyes on the road_  
_Takes me home_  
_Lights are off, he’s taking off his coat_  
_I say, I heard, oh,_  
_That you’ve been out and about_  
_with some other girl, some other girl.”_

Moving the pencil to her bottom lid, she takes a deep breath to begin the next verse, _“He says—”_ but another voice joins hers suddenly—Peeta’s. Her hand jerks in surprise, dragging a black line across her temple, but he keeps singing even in her silence.

 _“What you heard is true, but I can’t stop thinking about you and I,”_ he croons from behind her. Her eyes snap to his reflection over her shoulder, and in the brief pause before the next lyric, he lifts his eyebrows expectantly. With a scowl, she grudgingly finishes the rest of the verse, _“I said I’ve been there too a few times.”_

She quickly hits pause on her phone before the chorus can start, standing up straight to tug at the bottom of her towel. She’s relieved to find the towel more than adequately covers her bare ass. Her face feels hot regardless, and her eye looks like a toddler took a black Sharpie to it.

Peeta makes a sound of protest when she stops the song. “You don't have to stop on my account.”

“You weren’t supposed to be here,” she accuses, trying to appear unconcerned as she spools some toilet paper from the roll to fix her eyeliner mishap. How long has he been standing there exactly? She thought he was on The Peacekeepers’ tour bus playing XBox games with the guys.

“I was. We played Mortal Kombat for like an hour. Haymitch says he wants us in the lobby in 10 minutes though,” he says.

Wow. She must have zoned out for a while in the shower. The hot water just felt too good on her sore and weary body.

Peeta pushes off the doorway with his shoulder and steps into the bathroom. Katniss hugs the towel around her tighter, glaring at his reflection. He’s trying to rattle her, she knows. So she decides to not give him the satisfaction. So what if she’s in nothing but a towel in front of him? If he can act like she’s not practically naked right in front of him, she can too.

“I didn’t know you liked Taylor Swift,” she says instead, vigorously wiping at the corner of her eye and tossing the used toilet paper into the waste basket.

Peeta shrugs as he moves to the sink. “What’s not to like? She’s cute—”

“—blonde and tall, with legs like an Amazon,” Katniss finishes dryly, rolling her eyes. “Of course. She’s just your type.”

He shoots her an unreadable look in the mirror. “Actually, I was going to say she’s cute, plays guitar, writes catchy songs and is a great role model.” An assessing pause, and a muscle in his eyebrow twitches slightly. “You don’t know anything about my type.”

She blushes, not sure why she’s embarrassed. It was a fair assessment anyway, judging by the looks of Glimmer. Blonde, thin and beautiful tends to be most men’s type. Instead of responding, Katniss just shrugs indifferently as he grabs his toiletries case from the sink, but he turns to face her and leans against the counter, folding his arms over his chest.

“Can you let me finish getting ready in peace?” she asks, waving her hand to the mirror, but he ignores her request.

“We should do a cover of that song in our set. ‘Style,’ I mean,” he says. “I think it’d be pretty cool.”

She blinks in surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah. People love acoustic covers of popular songs.”

He’s right. She supposes it could possibly draw more attention or interest from new listeners at their shows.

Katniss gives him a critical look, taking in his black slim jeans and maroon henley. “You’re not really the James Dean type though,” she says flatly, referencing the song’s lyrics. Her lips purse in a barely restrained smirk. Because Peeta is much more All-American than Rebel Without a Cause.

Peeta stares at her before letting his gaze flick over her, from head to toe, and his lips twitch too. “And you don’t really fit the sweet 'girl next door' mold, sweetheart, but I think we could still sell it.”

She rolls her eyes, really needing to put a door between them right now. “Can you please get the hell out so I can finish? Thanks,” she says, pushing him toward the door, then blanches when she registers her word choice. Since when the hell did she start asking him to do anything _politely_? Profanity notwithstanding.

He holds his hands up, toiletries bag still clutched in one. “I’m going.” But at the doorway he spins around to bellow, _“Just take me home!”_ in a range a few octaves too high for his voice. Katniss shuts the door in his face, but she can still hear him belting out the bridge of the song as he moves through the room. Exasperated, she shakes her head and moves back to the sink to quickly finish her makeup, but she’s startled by her reflection.

She’s actually _grinning_. An honest to god grin.

She quickly wipes it off her face, as if she were wiping it away with a makeup towelette. She tries to replace it with her standard, Peeta-directed scowl as she lines her other eye with her black pencil, but by the time she’s done with her makeup, the infuriating smile is back.

* * *

With a mug of Throat Coat tea in hand, Katniss sits cross-legged in the middle of her bed in their Denver hotel room. She blows on the steaming liquid a few times before taking a delicate sip, wincing as she forces the tea down. No matter how many times she drinks the stuff, the taste is always off-putting and faintly licorice. But her throat is sore, and they’ve got a show tonight, so it’s a necessary evil to soothe her raw vocal cords.

Peeta’s out on the balcony on the phone with Glimmer. At least, she assumes it’s Glimmer on the other end. It’s not that he ever tells her who he’s texting or talking to, and Katniss doesn’t ask, but his voice takes on a different tone when he talks to his girlfriend: sometimes soft, warm; other times wary, guarded. When he answered his phone earlier, his tone had been receptive before he’d disappeared onto the balcony.

After the last time Katniss had overheard their phone conversation, she isn’t keen to be accused of eavesdropping again, so she makes sure to turn on the TV to drown out any snatches of his end of the conversation that drift through the closed glass door.

So she sits on her bed, sipping her tea and mostly not watching some terrible mid-day talk show. Her phone vibrates on the nightstand where she’s charging it, and she reaches over to grab it. It’s a text from Haymitch, sent to both her and Peeta.

_Check ur email._

A second text comes in right after.

_Also Effie’s here. Meet in 10 mins at hotel bar so we can talk game plan._

Confused, Katniss taps on her email app and waits for it to load, swallowing another pungent, stomach-churning mouthful of Throat Coat. She really needs to ask Effie to get her a more pleasant flavor. Her eyes widen when she sees the forwarded email from Haymitch, with the subject title _Jungle MV_. She gasps, jarring her mug slightly in her surprise, and she hisses in pain when a splash of the hot tea hits her hand. Hurriedly, she sets her cup down and clicks on the email, absently wiping her hand on her shirt. Sure enough, it’s a private YouTube link from Cinna to the finished, uploaded "Jungle" music video.

“Peeta!” His name is out of her mouth before she can think, and she clamps her hand over her lips, cringing at herself. He got the text too. He’ll see for himself what the email is; she’s not sure why she called out to him, especially when he’s talking to Glimmer.

Unfortunately, he heard her. The glass door slides open almost immediately, and he pushes the curtain aside to level a questioning look at her. “What?” he mouths.

She makes a face, mostly at herself, and weakly points at her phone. “Music video,” is all she says, but his eyebrows shoot up, and he turns his attention back to his conversation.

“Hey, Glim—sorry, I gotta go. Some business just came up.” There’s a pause as he listens to her, and he turns away from Katniss, his voice lowered as he replies to Glimmer. Katniss grimaces again. Why did she say anything? She should’ve watched the video by herself so she could’ve reacted to it in private. So she could brace herself for seeing the dreaded _kiss_. How the hell is she going to watch herself kiss him with him right beside her? She’s already squirming on the bed at the thought.

Peeta ends his phone call and navigates around the room to reach her. “Haymitch sent the video?” he asks, running a hand through his hair.

She nods, staring at her phone. “Yeah. Um...maybe we should watch it on your tablet or something,” she suggests hesitantly, and he grabs it from his bed, hastily unlocking the screen. When he pulls up the email and the link, he sits down on her bed beside her. She subtly shifts away from him, her face already flushing in anticipation. Dread, she corrects herself. Not anticipation. The excitement over the completed music video has withered away, and now dread is settling in—dread at knowing how stupid they’re going to look, dread at knowing how that kiss is going to look. How it’s going to make her _feel_ just watching it.

Peeta rubs his palm on his pants before hitting the play button on the video, and Katniss steels herself.

It opens on an aerial shot of a jungle that has to be mostly CGI, but it looks pretty damn real. Then, b-roll footage of trees and foliage and the creatures she remembers Cinna describing to them. She’s already slack-jawed at just how vivid everything looks.

And now she’s looking at herself. Her muscles tense reflexively at the sight of herself on the screen until she realizes she actually doesn’t look as ridiculous as she was certain she did while filming. Peeta makes a sound when he appears on screen next, like a derisive snort through his nose, but then they fall quiet again as they watch, enraptured by the visual narrative Cinna has woven together.

“It’s...not bad. I mean, it’s better than I thought. Way better,” she finally says, eyes still glued to the tablet screen. She winces when she sees herself running, the pinched, labored expression on her face. Spoke too soon.

“Huh. Yeah. I didn’t think a video of people running around in wetsuits could look anything but cheesy, but—” Peeta chokes on the rest of his words, stifling his spit-clotted cough with his knuckles at the next scene.

 _The_ scene. Where they’re kissing.

It can’t last more than three or four seconds, but Katniss doesn’t breathe. Neither of them move as they watch that moment, a moment that seems to bleed into eternity.

It’s a closeup on their faces, their lips moving together aggressively, their tongues _very_ obviously assisting, his hands cupping her jaw, her neck, at the very edges of the screen.

It’s porn. Tame, non-explicit porn, but jesus christ, her body’s reacting like she’s watching herself get fucked, not just tongue-fucked. Her skin heats, her temperature ratcheting upward, her nipples hardening in the soft cups of her bra, her clit pulsing.

Four seconds, and she’s already overheated. She knows her face is crimson. Peeta, just as stiff as she, is too uncomfortably close to her on this bed, but she can't seem to force her limbs to move. She can’t even seem to force her brain to communicate that command to her muscles. Neither of them can move away from the other without making it obvious why.

The rest of the video rolls by in a fog. Katniss barely registers it. And when it’s over, neither of them move or speak right away. Peeta just holds his tablet in his hand until he finally, slowly, locks the screen.

That seems to stir Katniss from her daze, and she blinks, keeping her gaze on the black tablet screen. “Oh my god. Your girlfriend is going to kill me, isn’t she?” she blurts. If Glimmer is already pissed about just the theory of the kiss... _seeing_ it is going to make her nuclear. And after seeing _that,_ Katniss wouldn't blame her. She'd be murderous, too.

Peeta finally makes a sound in the back of his throat and shakes his head. “No...She’s going to kill _me_.” He exhales roughly, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Fuck. I didn’t think...I told her—shit. Shit. I didn’t...Yeah, that was. Yeah. She is not...going to be thrilled.”

He stands up and tosses the tablet onto his bed, threading both hands through his hair with another sigh. Katniss doesn’t know what to say. Honestly, she can’t stop thinking about that kiss. Her brain keeps looping it in her head.

She doesn’t even remember him touching her face like that when they were kissing. It’s so...it looks so...

Her belly twinges, a full-body shudder racking her, and she shakes her head forcibly, pushing the thought away. No way in hell is she letting herself go there. The kiss was acting. Part of the job. It's not like she's trying to make a move on him; she hasn't done anything wrong. Glimmer is Peeta's problem, not hers. 

As casually and unaffected as she can manage, Katniss stiffly stands up from her bed. “Haymitch wants us down at the bar. Effie’s here,” she repeats, her voice sounding off to her own ears. But if she can act like it’s no big deal, then they don’t have to talk or deal with this awkwardness. Hopefully, her body gets the message soon, too. She's still frustratingly aroused.

Peeta looks at her, just the briefest of eye contact before he looks away and nods. His face is a little pink. “Okay. Let’s go.”

They don’t talk on their way down to the ground floor, standing in opposite corners of the elevator. They spot Haymitch and Effie at the bar from all the way across the lobby, largely in part to Effie’s lavender hair, glaringly bright under the overhead lights. Katniss wonders what kind of “game plan” they’re here to discuss. She assumes it’s about the music video, but she can’t think of anything she’d like to discuss less right now.

When Effie sees them, she rises to her feet hurriedly and wobbles in her heels, giving Katniss the strange impression of a baby bird hopping out onto a branch right before it attempts its first flight. She hugs first Katniss then Peeta with her characteristically over-the-top enthusiasm, air-kissing their cheeks. The most they get out of Haymitch is a grunt of acknowledgment.

Despite how grating Effie can be, Katniss is glad she’s here. Her laughable adherence to etiquette and social niceties helps offset Haymitch’s caustic bluntness. Effie is always popping in and out of the tour, normally flying back and forth between New York and California, presumably to deal with other District Thirteen talent.

“Good to see you, Effie. You look wonderful,” Peeta says to her with a well-trained smile as he sits down across from Haymitch. Katniss plops down in the only other free seat, eyeing the tumbler of mahogany liquor in front of Haymitch. She wonders if this is the kind of conversation she’ll need alcohol for.

With Haymitch and Effie, it always is.

“Oh, Peeta. Have I told you you’re my favorite guitarist?” Effie titters, winking at him as she gracefully sinks back down into her chair.

Haymitch cuts to the chase. “You watched the music video, yeah?” They both nod, studiously avoiding eye contact with each other, and Haymitch swigs his drink before continuing. “We’re going to premiere it on Vevo tomorrow. After Denver, you’ve got a show in Kansas City. We’ve booked you for a radio interview that morning. Effie will email you details later so you’ll be prepared, but we want you to promote the tour and the music video specifically. Got it? Interest in you two will start picking up after this, so I hope you’ve been brushing up on your media training.”

Peeta nods, but Katniss’ stomach folds in on itself. “A radio interview? Like...a live interview?” she asks unnecessarily, and Haymitch arches an eyebrow at her in answer. _Fuck_. She grabs Haymitch’s drink and downs a mouthful of the liquor. Whisky. Disgusting. He just smirks and gestures for a server.

“You’ll be fine,” Effie assures her. “Remember, just let Peeta do most of the talking.”

Katniss wants to laugh. Because doing “fine” just means shutting up and letting Peeta handle it. It should annoy her. But Effie’s right. Katniss nearly botched that one print interview they did.

The server appears to take their drink orders. Katniss asks for a vodka tonic, and Peeta gets a beer. When she leaves to get their drinks, Haymitch adds, “Keep with the standard line about you two. You’re not dating. You’re friends. Play coy, but don't be afraid to play it up a little. You know the drill. The questions will increase once they see this video, so just be ready.”

Katniss eyeballs Haymitch’s drink hard, wondering if he’ll care if she just finishes it off.

“I’ll handle the social media stuff,” Effie says, already typing away on her phone. “Facebook, Twitter, Instagram. I’ll get the video on as many people’s radars as possible. I highly recommend you don’t read the comments.”

“What do you mean?” Peeta asks, but Effie’s expression is serene, insouciant as she continues pouring over her phone. Her non-scrolling hand swats away his concern like she’s swatting away a gnat.

“Oh, you know. Never read the comments on a video. Or comments anywhere, period. You’ll just make yourself sick.”

Haymitch grunts. Or maybe it’s a snort of laughter. It’s hard to tell with him. “She’s right.”

Now Katniss is growing alarmed. “I mean—are people going to hate it?” Despite her previous reservations, she thinks the video is pretty good overall.

“No. But you’ll want to avoid the speculation, the conspiracies, the theories. You’ll drive yourself crazy reading that stuff, so just let Effie handle it. That’s why she’s here.”

Reluctantly, Katniss and Peeta nod, taking their drinks from the server when she returns. Katniss eagerly swallows her vodka tonic, still feeling the relentless surge of adrenaline and anxiety from watching the music video, only sharpened by this conversation. She needs to get her nerves under control before the show tonight. Being nervous only handicaps her performance.

“Moving on,” Haymitch says, sinking down into his chair so that he’s practically horizontal. “Thanksgiving is coming up. You don’t have a show that night. If you want to fly home for the day, Thirteen will cover the costs. But you’ve got to get back in time for soundcheck in Wisconsin on Friday, so you only get the one day.”

His mention of Thanksgiving startles Katniss. Is it really that close to the holidays already? She hadn’t realized. Tour muddies her awareness of the passage of time.

Her stomach revolts at the thought of the holidays and going home, the vodka sitting heavily in her gut, and she grips the slick glass in her hand tightly. The holidays are always the worse time of the year. With what happened to her dad…And her mother always slips into a depression around this time, usually disappearing into her work and endless shifts at the hospital just to avoid dealing with the reality of her husband being gone. Even with Prim around, Thanksgiving and Christmas have just felt hollow ever since her father's death.

Katniss takes another sip of her drink despite the nausea inching up her esophagus and firmly pushes the thought out of her head. She doesn’t have to deal with it just yet; for once, there are more pressing issues.

* * *

As Haymitch leads her and Peeta into the building of the Kansas City radio station, Katniss is surprised to find a group of fans waiting outside to greet them. Effie must have posted about the interview on Facebook, but Katniss wasn’t even aware they had fans dedicated enough to wake up for a 7 a.m. radio interview.

They stop to sign photos and EPs and take pictures with the fans—six girls and three guys, one of whom is actually shaking when he holds up his phone to snap a selfie with her. The whole encounter touches her, but it also baffles her, and when they finally get inside the building, she and Peeta exchange an awed look.

“That was kind of surreal,” he laughs, and Katniss shakes her head in wonderment.

“I probably shouldn’t be allowed to interact with fans before I’ve had coffee. I think I was scowling in all those pictures.”

He cocks his head. “Is there a time when you're  _not_ scowling?” She narrows her eyes at him but has to actively fight to keep her lips from turning down just to prove him wrong. He smiles at her, seemingly victorious despite her efforts.

They take the elevator to the third floor, where an intern directs them to a room to wait. The aroma of coffee assaults Katniss as soon as she walks through the doorway, and she makes a beeline to the coffee pot to pour herself a drink. They sit around the room on couches, nibbling on bagels and drinking coffee, while Haymitch debriefs them on the interview and the morning show DJs they’ll be talking to, Johanna and Foxface. Katniss is too distracted to even question that ridiculous name. She just peels chunks of her plain bagel off, shredding the baked good into pieces, nibbling on every other one.

After about 15 minutes, the intern returns to take them into the soundbooth where the two female DJs are currently doing their show. At a commercial break, Katniss and Peeta are led into the room. Haymitch stays out in the hallway to listen and watch them through the glass.

Foxface, a petite woman with red hair and a sly look— _now_ Katniss understands the nickname—stands up to greet them and shake their hands. “Hey, thanks for stopping by this morning. We appreciate you taking the time to come on our show.”

“Thank you for having us,” Peeta says with a smile that is entirely too pleasant for so early in the morning. But Katniss can’t begrudge his cheerfulness too much; she’s still clutching her coffee desperately in one hand as she shakes Foxface’s hand next.

“Thank you.” She hopes Peeta is up for being the more talkative and articulate one between them, once again. She meets his eyes over Foxface’s head, and he must see the desperation in hers because he nods reassuringly.

Johanna doesn’t stand up to greet them. She just leans back in her swiveling chair to regard them, using her toes to swing herself side to side slowly. Her smirk is a gradual, smug slide across her face. For some reason, Katniss feels like she has been found wanting under this woman’s appraisal.

“Well. I can certainly see the tween appeal.” Something about her look, the tone of her voice, gives Katniss the impression of a snake about to strike. Which she does, right for the jugular. “The sexual tension between you two practically reeks.”

Katniss is so grateful she already has a death grip on her coffee cup, otherwise it’d be on the ground by now. Despite the blush inflaming every single capillary in her face, she narrows her eyes at Johanna. “So nice to meet you too,” she grits out, wondering what the hell Haymitch has just signed them up for for the next 15 minutes. Johanna’s smirk doesn’t falter.

“I like to think our music is the main draw,” Peeta says as diplomatically as possible, though his tone is flat. Despite herself, Katniss’ risks a quick glance at him. He avoids looking at her. His stance is poised, unwavering, but his face looks as flushed as hers feels.

“I’m sure you do,” Johanna drawls, and she finally sits up straight, gesturing to the two free seats around the table for them to take as she puts her headphones back on.

Peeta and Katniss sit down carefully, taking the headphones from the intern and waiting politely as she adjusts their mics. Foxface quickly briefs them on the interview process, and a producer alerts them when they’ve got 10 seconds left before the last commercial is over. This time when Katniss glances at Peeta, he meets her gaze. His mouth firms into a brief smile, and he gives her a quick nod. She takes one more sip of her coffee, even though her nerves are already agitated by Johanna’s comments, then she takes a deep breath as the two talk show hosts introduce them, forcing a smile onto her face.

One of Effie’s lessons comes back to her in that moment. After hours of failed media training, flustered and exhausted, all she could tell Katniss was: _Just try and pretend. Like this. See? I’m smiling even though you’re aggravating me._

“Good morning,” Katniss says into the mic after Peeta’s hello, her voice falsely friendly and happy as she smiles. It feels grotesque on her face.

If anything, Johanna just seems amused by the strain in Katniss’ facade. She dives right into the interview, and Katniss braces herself. “You two have been on tour with The Peacekeepers for how long now? Three, four months?”

“A little more than three months, yes,” Peeta confirms.

“You guys kind of came out of nowhere. How did you sign with the same major record label of such a popular band?”

Katniss grinds her molars together. She doesn’t like the insinuation there, the disbelief behind the question. But Peeta just laughs.

“I guess they just saw something in us that they liked. And we’re very grateful. We got pretty lucky.”

“It was a lot of hard work too,” Katniss says because she’s not going to let some disc jockey discount all the time and energy she's put into her music up to this point, even if their discovery was mere happenstance.

Foxface lobbies the next question. “How did The Victors get started?”

Thankfully, Peeta handles that answer, as he did with the Tribute Magazine reporter. He even manages to make it sound fresh and unrehearsed, like Effie and Haymitch haven’t drilled this story into their heads for months now.

“That _is_ very lucky,” Johanna simpers after he explains about Haymitch coming up to them after only their second show. Katniss can’t help her scowl, and even Peeta’s placid expression hides something more volatile. He keeps smiling though.

“Our manager saw something in us that he thought the larger public would like to hear. Being on this tour has given us a chance to prove that,” he says calmly, and Johanna nods.

“You just filmed a music video, right?”

Peeta uses the opportunity to pitch the “Jungle” music video as per Haymitch’s instructions, and Foxface interjects to say they will link to it on the radio station’s website and Facebook page.

“You’ve got a show tonight at the Midland,” Foxface continues. “Are you guys working on anything else while on tour?”

“We’re recording a studio album too,” Katniss answers. “Here and there, when we get the time.”

“It should hopefully be out early next year,” Peeta adds.

“It must be an involved process, making an album,” Johanna says, her eyes drifting between the two of them thoughtfully. “Arranging the songs, recording them. Writing them. What do you use for inspiration?”

Oh, this is dangerous territory. Katniss feels her pulse gallop in her neck, and she risks a look at Peeta, hoping he has a stock answer at the ready. But he looks momentarily caught off guard by the question too, and she sees his throat work as he swallows. When he answers, though, he looks implacable.

“I think a lot of songs are just born in the moment. You use whatever emotions you’re feeling, that energy, and you just kind of...vibe with the person you’re writing with.” He glances at her then back to Johanna, his thumb rubbing over the second knuckle of his middle finger.

“There’s personal elements but also universal messages in our music,” Katniss says. “Things anybody can relate to. We hope.” She looks over at Haymitch who’s watching them through the window. His expression is unreadable, but she thinks he seems mostly pleased with their performance so far. Hell, she’s kind of pleased with herself, despite how awful Johanna is.

Speak of the devil. She makes a curious noise in the back of her throat, drawing Katniss’ attention back to her. Her brow is creased in concern, which immediately puts Katniss on edge. Because nothing about that seems sincere, coming from this woman.

“I saw that your father passed away some time ago, Katniss. Is that something that’s impacted your music?”

The bottom falls out so suddenly, Katniss has the dizzying sensation of feeling like her chair has actually been pulled out from under her. She grips the edge of the table tightly. _Her father_. Her mouth parts soundlessly, and she just stares at the DJ in shock, unable to formulate the words. How the hell does she know?

Peeta makes a sound, a sharp inhalation, in the vacuum left by Johanna’s words, and Katniss doesn’t need to look at him to know he’s equally stunned by the question.

She’s never told him about her father.

In fact, she hasn’t told anybody on this tour. Not Peeta, not Finnick or Annie or Darius. She doesn’t talk about her father outside of family and close friends.

Her lips clamp shut, and she turns her glare on Haymitch. He makes a frantic gesture for her to answer, but she just glowers at him. That son of a bitch. She doesn't know how he found out, but she knows he's got to be behind this.

Peeta clears his throat, like he’s clearing away the surprise and thickness in his throat. “Well...I think all artists draw on their early experiences to write their music. It’s impossible not to. Directly or indirectly, tragedy and pain fuel a lot of great songs, just like love does. So I think that’s all we’re trying to do.”

If she weren’t so pissed off, Katniss probably could have appreciated, even applauded, the eloquence of his response. He saved her ass. But she’s too busy deciding whose neck she wants to wring more, Johanna’s or Haymitch’s.

She stews the rest of the interview, shutting down, offering monosyllabic responses when necessary and letting Peeta carry the rest of it. By the end, her head is still spinning, and she’s relieved to finally utter a thank you when prompted, even though it sounds a lot more like “Fuck you.”

As Foxface informs listeners about an upcoming giveaway for tickets to their show later that night, Katniss yanks her headphones off and propels herself away from the mic to jump out of her chair.

“Pleasure talking to you guys,” Jo chirps with a sickening smile once they’ve gone to commercial. Katniss can’t understand why this woman seems to hate her, why she wants to antagonize them, but she doesn’t bother acknowledging her—her sights are set on a bigger target.

And she finds him in the hallways as she storms out of the booth. Haymitch doesn’t even wither under her glare. He just pushes off the wall, his mouth drooped in a disapproving frown. “That could’ve gone better,” he muses.

Katniss doesn’t realize Peeta’s right on her heels, but his caustic remark comes before she can even unlock her gritted teeth to unleash her fury on their manager. “Jesus, Haymitch. Was it your plan to throw us to the wolves in there?”

Haymitch rolls his eyes. “Please. If you think two nobody DJs in Fuckall, Kansas, were too mean, how are you going to handle national attention?”

“Kansas City is in Missouri,” Peeta snaps, carding a hand through his curls. Haymitch shrugs. “And you could have warned us that we needed to be on the defensive, at least.”

“How did you—” Katniss starts but realizes that’s not the right question. She shakes her head, fixing her glare on him again. “Why the fuck did you tell them about—that?”

Haymitch gives her a strange look, like he might actually be surprised, but then his expression sours. “It’s not exactly confidential information, sweetheart. You think you’re the only person with a dead dad?” he sneers.

She’s going to rip the skin off his face, she decides. Unfortunately, Peeta’s hand on her shoulder jars her out of her homicidal fantasy. “Katniss,” he begins, but Haymitch flaps his hands at them as if to dismiss them.

“Go downstairs to the van. I gotta apologize to those two for your piss-poor behavior,” he growls.

Katniss shakes Peeta’s hand off her and storms toward the elevator, jabbing at the button. She can feel Peeta’s presence behind her, but she just glares at the doors as she waits, trembling with rage. She’s barely holding herself together. They don’t speak until they get on the elevator. Katniss is already on edge, dreading the impending confrontation, the intimate acknowledgement between the two of them of her most personal, private pain.

“Katniss,” he tries again, but she cuts him off sharply, “Don’t.”

She sees the muscles in his jaw flex with his repressed words. She’s sure he’s going to respect her request. He doesn’t.

“Katniss.” More firmly this time. “If you want to talk about...your dad...I can understand at least a little bit what you’ve been through.”

The doors open on the first floor, and she cuts her glare to him. “The difference is that my father actually gave a damn about me,” she snaps before flying off the elevator. But she’s not quick enough to miss the flash of hurt and shock across his face. The look cuts right to the bone. Her shame is immediate, and she jerks to a stop in the hallway, closing her eyes as the guilt nearly submerges her. Repentant, she turns around as Peeta steps off the elevator, his eyes now shuttered.

“Peeta...I didn’t mean that.” She swallows. “I’m sorry. I'm just...upset.”

He blinks, obviously caught off guard by her apology. The cool disregard on his face gives way, first to surprise, then to wryness. “So you _are_ capable of apologizing.”

Her lips thin. She knows she deserves the jab, but her nerves are a little too raw right now, so she just turns and keeps walking, out the front doors, through the parking lot, to their van. Peeta follows her but doesn’t say anything more, and they climb into the van, Katniss in the back and Peeta in the passenger seat. The silence is thick.

When Haymitch finally appears a few minutes later, sliding into the driver’s seat, she doesn’t even wait for him to shut the door before she lays into him. “I can’t believe you did that to me! There’s a reason I don’t talk about—my father, and if you think having some interviewer blindside me with questions like that on air is a good idea—”

Haymitch twists around in his seat to silence her with the nastiest look he’s ever directed at her. Which says a lot. “You think I told them about your father? That I would actually ask them to goad you into that line of attack?”

She pulls back on her charge, confused, but not quite willing to relinquish her hold on her outrage. “You said—”

“Sweetheart, anybody with an internet connection can find out about your family. Yes, I knew your father was dead. It’s my _job_ to know every little thing about you two. I’m assuming Johanna and Foxface did the bare minimum of Googling you, too. I know your opinion of me isn’t that high, but how about a little more trust that your manager has your best interests in mind? I’m trying to sell romance here, not your _daddy issues_.”

If he means to be reassuring, he misses the mark completely. “Why can’t you just sell the music? Why does it always have to be about—about—” She gestures between her and Peeta spastically, Haymitch’s word for it too laughably incongruous with reality. “It’s cheap! And I didn’t get into this business to be fodder for celebrity rags and asshole DJs looking for the next soundbite!”

“Then prove it!” Haymitch yells, momentarily stunning her. Even Peeta’s eyebrows lift at the decibel level their manager’s voice just shot to. He only ever speaks in sneers. “You want people to give a shit about your music? You want to make music they care about? Then _do_ it. My job is to get as many eyes and ears on you in whatever sordid ways possible. Even if you find them despicable. If you want people to see that there’s more to you than the romance gimmick, then make them listen! And make damn sure what they’re listening to is fucking _good_.”

She and Haymitch glare at each other until she looks away, slumping down in her seat and folding her arms over her chest to effectively end the argument. With a huff, Haymitch turns around and starts the van.

Buildings and cars slide past her window as he drives them back to their hotel, but Katniss doesn’t see any of it, lost in her thoughts. It’s like her father is everywhere lately. He’s always in the back of her mind no matter what she does—usually, but she realizes, with a twisting pinch of guilt, she hasn’t thought that much about him at all while on tour.

Inhaling tremulously, she pinches the bridge of her nose hard to ward off the tears, then releases her breath slowly. Tries to release the worry. Once she’s home for Thanksgiving, she’ll have more than enough time to think about him.

* * *

The after party following the show takes place in The Peacekeepers’ hotel suite—Cato and Thresh’s, to be exact, since they share a suite, while Darius and Finnick, and by extension, Annie, share another one. Katniss is glad they’re forgoing their usual dalliances in some nightclub this time, as the morning interview still has her feeling out of sorts and not up for partying or playing nice to the public.

She knows her preoccupation with the interview negatively affected The Victors’ set, which just aggravates her even more, mostly because she has to admit to herself that Haymitch is right, at least about one thing; she needs a thicker skin if she’s going to last in the music industry. One stupid interview shouldn’t be enough to rattle her this much.

Worse still, she hates feeling like she let Peeta down, on top of cruelly lashing out at him. And after he covered for her in that interview, too. Sometimes, she’s startlingly aware of what a shitty bandmate she can be. She owes him her gratitude. A herculean task, even on her better days.

When she arrives to Cato and Thresh’s suite around 11:30 that night, right after a quick shower in her and Peeta’s room, she’s cocooned in a hefty shield of self-pity. Someone opens the door for her, and she’s greeted by a raucous, obviously drunk, cheer from Finnick and a few stagehands she’s become well acquainted with during the tour. She smiles tightly at them and takes the beer Finnick offers her from the cooler. He seems to sense her foul mood and just squeezes her shoulder in a comforting gesture before letting her pass.

The room is dim, shirts and other articles of clothing thrown over lamps to create a mellow, intimate atmosphere. Some of the dubstep and house music Cato favors pumps a steady bass through the walls and floors that Katniss can feel in her chest. She has to squeeze through pockets of people to find somewhere to sit, but she’s dismayed to find Cato and three girls he clearly picked up from the show taking up the entire couch. She’s glad the girls at least look of age, however.

She spots Peeta talking to Thom and a crew member, Chaff, in the corner of the room, perched on a side table as he sips a beer. She wonders if now’s a good time to talk to him about earlier, to thank him for what he did for her in the interview, and probably apologize for afterward a second time, but she decides she needs more alcohol first.

She’s about to push her way back through the crowd to find Finnick when a hand loops around her wrist to pull her to a stop. She looks back—and down—to find Darius smiling at her from an armchair.

“Looking for somewhere to sit?” he asks, and she smiles at him, a small one, but it’s genuine.

“Kind of.” He lets go of her hand and gestures to his lap, and she laughs finally and shrugs. She settles down on his lap, carefully arranging herself so she’s not curled against him too intimately. He drapes a hand on her knee, and she’s grateful he doesn’t use the opportunity to cop a feel a little higher up.

“Do you guys purposely limit seating in your rooms just so women have no choice but to sit on your laps?” she asks with a peaked eyebrow, lifting her bottle to her mouth. She doesn’t have to speak as loudly at this proximity.

Darius lifts his hands up in a defensive gesture, laughing. “Cato, maybe. There’s plenty of chairs in _our_ suite, but Cato refuses to let us throw the parties because he says our music is crap. I was just being a gentleman.”

“You’re not enjoying this at all,” she says dubiously.

“Well, you do make a good lap warmer.”

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly, but laughter elsewhere in the room distracts her, and she cranes her neck to find the source. Peeta and Thom and Chaff are laughing hysterically about something, so hard in fact that Peeta has to brace his hands against his knees.

She watches him for a moment. Something like envy ripples through her, and she’s not sure why. It’s just that she never sees Peeta laugh like that, not around her, anyway. Even in their more amicable interactions, he’s guarded. She is too. But she remembers when he wasn’t, when they first met, how easily the conversation and laughter flowed between them. Before he’d utterly humiliated her. Before she'd shut him out. Before they’d entered their subsequent standoff.

She watches him sit up and rub his wet eyes, still laughing as he says something to the other two, his blue eyes twinkling, the skin creasing pleasingly at the corners.

“I watched your music video on Facebook earlier.”

Darius’ comment startles her out of her reverie, and she snaps her head back around to look at him, almost guiltily. “Oh.” She gives a weak laugh, hoping her blush isn’t apparent in the dim lighting of the room. “Kind of over the top, right?”

“No, I thought it was cool,” he says, sipping his beer. “For our first video, all we got to do was stand around on a stage and walk down the street in suspenders looking like some Mumford and Sons rejects.”

“Better than wetsuits,” she grumbles, and Darius gives her an appraising look, grinning.

“Not from my perspective.”

“You hang out with Finnick too much,” she accuses lightly, both pleased and embarrassed by his compliment.

“God, don’t I know it,” he complains with a groan, and she listens to him gripe about how Finnick likes to lounge around their suite in the nude, no matter how many times he and Annie implore him to put on clothes.

“Maybe it’s a good thing we don’t have the after parties in your suite,” Katniss points out and swigs her beer. They talk for a while, finishing their respective beers, given more when Thresh sees they’re empty-handed. Darius’ hand gradually drifts up her thigh over the course of their conversation, but Katniss finds she doesn’t mind now. When he starts nuzzling her neck, his lips finding delicate swatches of skin, she doesn’t mind that either. And when he asks if she wants to go somewhere a little quieter, she stands up from his lap and follows him to another room. It’s one of the bedrooms, and a few other people are already congregating on the bed as they drink and pass around a joint. One couple is already making out, practically dryhumping, and Katniss and Darius share an amused look before he leads her into the attached bathroom.

With the door shut behind them to block out the others and the god awful music, he kisses her. Making out in a bathroom isn’t the most romantic scenario, but she lets him press her against the door and part her lips with his tongue. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and accepts him eagerly. His breath is hot on her cheek, her jaw, and his hands skim the gentle curves of her sides, grip her waist and hips.

The bass thunders through the door, vibrating between her shoulder blades. It’s kind of hypnotic, a thrilling contrast to the solid heat of his chest against her breasts. But then the doorknob rattles and, when it doesn’t give, someone bangs and curses sharply on the other side, startling Katniss.

“Hey, who the fuck’s in my bathroom?”

Cato. They must be in his room.

Darius tries to ignore his bandmate, pressing his lips, his teeth to her throat, but Cato just pounds harder, growing more incensed and sharp-tongued in his shouts. Darius sighs and pulls away to give her an exasperated look. “We can go to my room.”

With how things have been heating up between them, of course that’s the next logical step here. She knew it would happen eventually, that it was at least a distinct possibility she’d have sex with him at some point. But she hesitates, suddenly thinking of Peeta and their drunken conversation many nights ago. _Maybe next time he asks me back to his room, I_ will _take him up on that offer._ She should. Why shouldn’t she take him up on it? He’s nice, fun. He’s attractive, she’s attracted to him. She wants to have sex, wants to get off with something more than just her fingers in the shower, or in her dreams.

Except, when she opens her mouth to respond, she finds herself declining. “I don’t think so. Not tonight. It’s been...kind of a weird day.” She rubs the heel of her hand over her forehead, feeling drained all of a sudden, and she braces herself for his reaction.

But he doesn’t get mad, or even annoyed. Doesn’t sigh or walk out. He just furrows his brow in a sympathetic manner, standing up straight so he’s not trapping her against the door. “Yeah, Haymitch said something about an interview earlier. That bad?”

She rolls her eyes to the ceiling with a frown. “The DJs were assholes, and I handled it poorly. Haymitch ripped me a new one.”

Darius smiles slightly. “Sounds like Haymitch—” The door rattles violently, and he scowls. “Fuck off, Cato! Go piss off the balcony!”

“Dude, are you serious? Go shit in your own bathroom, Dar!”

Agitated, Darius runs a hand through his fire-branded hair and turns his gaze back to her. His brown eyes turn mischievous. “You know what we need?”

“What?”

Jerking the door open, he steps around her, and he and Cato share a mutual glare. But then Cato notices Katniss. Understanding dawns, and an oily smirk spreads across his face.

“You coulda just told me you were trying to get some, man,” he snorts at Darius, who rolls his eyes. Katniss scowls at the brutish blond as she sidesteps him. He looks weird, his eyes glassy, his face unusually red. But then, she always finds him off-putting. His smirk lingers in her direction for a second longer before he disappears into the bathroom, slamming the door shut.

Darius walks over to the bed and hits someone on the shoulder. “Roll me one,” he says. The guy pulls a plastic baggie out of his pocket and lays out a rolling paper on the mattress, meticulously rolling a joint for Darius. Once it’s presented to him, Darius digs a lighter out of his pocket and, turning toward Katniss, lights it, takes a hit, then passes it to her. She takes a deep drag from the joint, and he grins when she coughs lightly, wincing as the acrid smoke burns her lungs. It’s been a while since she’s smoked weed.

But it’s been a shitty day, and she needs a release. And if it's not going to be sex, then pot it is. So she takes another hit when he offers it. They walk back out into the living room. Katniss realizes one side of the couch is free, and she gratefully collapses into the seat with a groan. Darius brings her another beer, which she accepts, and settles down beside her. She shakes her head when he holds out the joint to her again, and he passes it to a girl on his other side. One of Cato's girls.

She talks to him idly for a while, or maybe only a few minutes. Her head grows foggy, and she’s suddenly not sure how much time has passed. Everyone carries on around her like she’s watching them through water, and she closes her eyes, leans her head back on the couch. It feels like it’s detached itself from her body, and her stomach churns slightly at the discombobulating sensation.

Now she remembers why it’s been so long since she last smoked. She’s rarely been able to get that good type of high everyone else rhapsodizes about, especially when she’s been drinking.

“—Katniss?”

Darius is poking her arm, but she doesn’t even want to open her eyes to look at him. She doesn’t want to move. Doesn’t think she’s capable of moving, actually. Her body feels leaden suddenly, like she’s weighted down. Everything just feels _so heavy_.

“ _Nnnn,_ ” she groans in lieu of words, managing a full bottom-lipped pout.

“You okay?” he asks.

She takes a deep breath. “I think...I’m just gonna be a couch now.”

He laughs. “What?”

“I can’t move anymore.”

He snorts, lifts up her hand and drops it back to the couch. Everything inside her feels like she’s sinking into the cushions of the sofa, and she whines her protest in the back of her throat. “Do you wanna lie down somewhere?”

She shakes her head. Then she nods. “No. Yes?”

“I can put you in my bed. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

Walking anywhere right now sounds awful. She shakes her head. “Why can’t I just sleep right here?”

“Do you really want to pass out in Cato’s hotel room?”

Good point.

She tries to make herself move, and her consciousness is  halfway out the door before she realizes she hasn’t actually managed to get off the couch. Oh god, she’s actually never going to be able to move again.

“What’s wrong with her?” Peeta’s voice abruptly slices through her internal crisis, from somewhere above her.

“She’s high. She’s declared herself an inanimate object,” Darius answers, and she’d kick them for talking about her like she can’t answer for herself if her leg would just cooperate.

The couch shifts around her, and with an effort she cracks her eyes open to see Peeta leaning over her, his hand braced against the arm of the couch. “Do you need to go to bed?” he asks. Like she’s a child.

She wrinkles her nose and tries to summon a scowl at him, but her lips rebel and form yet another pathetic pout. “I can’t move.”

“Come on,” he says, gently grabbing her wrists to pull her up, but she resists.

“I’m too heavy,” she says, and he huffs in amusement. He doesn’t get it. Why don’t they get it? She wants to scream at them.

“Sure you are. Do you want me to throw you over my shoulder and carry you?” Peeta offers, though it sounds more like a threat.

Her stomach doesn’t like that idea. At all. “No. I’ll puke all over you.”

“Then you gotta stand up.”

She groans loudly, but she lets him pull her to her feet. She doesn’t so much assist him as she just doesn’t actively resist. He drapes her arms around his neck, and her nose smashes against his chest as she falls into him.

He tries to maneuver her toward the door, but she stumbles, fisting his shirt in her hand to hold herself up. “Okay, never mind. I’m going to have to carry you,” he tells her.

“I’m fine,” she protests, but he squats down to hook his arms under her legs.

“Do you need help, man?” Darius asks, but Peeta just grunts.

“I got it.” The room sways as he lifts her up into his arms bridal-style, and she clings to his shoulders for dear life. Every step to the door is jarring.

She doesn’t see Cato, but she hears him, sounding far away even though she swears she can feel his rancid breath on her face when he speaks.

“Wow, Everdeen. Two men in one night, huh?”

Peeta’s arms tense around her, but he doesn’t stop, merely throwing over his shoulder, “Don’t be an asshole, Cato.”

“Can you flip him off for me?” Katniss asks, lifting her head just enough to narrow her eyes at Cato behind Peeta.

“If you want me to drop you.”

At least, Darius smacks Cato on the back of the head in retribution, but Cato just snickers wolfishly.

Someone opens the door for Peeta so he can carry her out. His arms are firm and steady around her, and she presses her face against his chest, suddenly exhausted. His chest is solid. Like a wall. She pulls back to look at it, to make sure she didn’t hallucinate the last couple minutes and isn't actually clinging desperately to a wall. She removes one hand from around his neck and pushes on his chest, firmly.

“What the hell are you doing?” Peeta asks, stopping at the elevators and shifting her in his arms to push the button.

“Trying to move you,” she says, and he shakes his head.

“You’re weird.”

“I’m high.” She starts laughing, keeps laughing until the elevator dings its arrival.

The doors open, and Peeta steps inside. “Please god don’t let us run into anyone else right now,” he mutters to himself, jabbing at the button for their floor.

No such luck. The elevator stops on another floor before they can reach theirs, and he curses under his breath. Katniss isn’t concerned. Nothing else matters right now. He’s _so warm_. Suddenly she feels light in his arms, and she’s so worried she might actually float away that she tightens her grip on his shoulders, cheek smushed against his collarbone.

Someone gets on the elevator. Two someones. Girls, by the sounds of it. Katniss doesn’t bother looking at them.

“Uh—is she okay?” Katniss isn’t too gone to detect the concern in the question, and even in her altered state, it dawns on her how this must look. No wonder Peeta was worried about running into other people.

“Ah—” He sounds uncomfortable, at a loss for an explanation, so Katniss lifts her head, tries to crane it around to look at their elevator companions. She ends up looking at them from upside down, her head tipped back.

“I smoked too much pot,” she explains, casually, like it’s the most normal, non-illegal thing.

The girls laugh, and Peeta sighs.

Katniss is too tired to maintain the ruse. It’s an effort to keep her eyes open, so she just lays her head back against his chest. Peeta continues to talk to the girls politely, but Katniss can’t be bothered to follow the thread of conversation. She just wants the sweet oblivion of sleep. She’s sure she could fall asleep right here in his arms, with the soothing texture of his voice in her ear as it rumbles in his chest cavity.

Literally a thousand hours later, they finally reach their floor, and Peeta bids the girls goodnight as he steps out of the elevator. When they’re out of earshot, the elevator doors shut, he muses out loud, “I think we just gained some new fans.”

She snorts, an embarrassing, piggy sound muffled by his chest, thank god. “I doubt I had anything to do with that. I can’t even remember my name right now.”

“Are you kidding? This whole pothead look really scored you some cool points,” he says, and she groans.

“I’m a phony. I can’t handle my weed.”

“No shit. How are you ever going to make it as a rockstar?”

He’s teasing, but she worries he’s right. “That’s what Effie should teach us. That's the real test of the industry. How to do drugs like rockstars. Not media training.”

“Yeah, why don't you ask her that. You’re going to give the poor woman a heart attack,” Peeta says. At their door, he moves her in his arms again so he can grab his key card out of his pocket. Her nose slides against the crook of his neck, and she inhales deeply, enticed by a waft of something spicy. The scent of his aftershave or shaving cream still lingers, mingled with perspiration, the dried saltiness of his sweat.

“You smell good,” she murmurs, and he goes still at her words. Only for a moment, then he’s moving again, popping the door open and carrying her inside.

“You’re definitely going to hate yourself in the morning,” he mutters, but she’s already thinking of something else.

“There was something I wanted to tell you. Something...what did I want to tell you?” She knows there’s something important, but she just can’t remember it now.

“If I knew, you wouldn’t have to tell me, now would you?”

He places her down on her bed, and she pushes up on her elbows to squint her eyes at him. “Don’t confuse me with your...your riddles.”

Peeta laughs under his breath and rubs at his eyes tiredly. “Katniss. Just go to sleep.”

“Fine, but only because I was gonna do that anyway.” She rolls onto her stomach, pulls a pillow over her head, and within minutes she’s blissfully asleep, stalling her inevitable regret for at least another seven hours. 

* * *

The night before Thanksgiving is a frenzy of last-minute packing and scrambling to get to the airport on time for a red-eye home immediately after their show. Katniss doesn’t even think to question why Peeta is on the same flight as her heading back to her hometown until they’re boarding. He should be going to Seattle, she would think.

“You’re not spending Thanksgiving with your family?” she asks, showing the attendant her boarding pass.

“I go for Christmas,” is all he says, smiling politely when he also shows his boarding pass. Katniss puzzles this out. She’d thought Rye had been exaggerating about only seeing Peeta once a year at Christmas. Do his parents really hate him enough to bar him from coming home on Thanksgiving? It seems absurd. She doesn’t particularly like being home for the holiday, but that’s of her own choosing. At least she has the option to go home.

“So what do you do instead?” she asks skeptically, wondering if he just spends it alone. The thought is a little horrifying.

Peeta clears his throat before answering. “I’m spending it with Glimmer and her family,” he says, and Katniss clamps her lips shut, keeping her eyes ahead as she boards the plane, shuffling down the aisle toward her seat. Of course. He’s going to his girlfriend’s. That makes sense. But she doesn't want to talk about Glimmer. She doesn't know if his girlfriend has seen the music video yet or what she thinks of it. Katniss wants to remain blissfully ignorant of any murder plots the woman might be planning.

She’s relieved Haymitch didn’t book her and Peeta's seats together. She still feels a little awkward around him after the other night, when he had to take care of her after only two hits of a joint. Embarrassing. She remembers _smelling_ him. She told him he smelled good. She could barely look him in the eye the next day. Even Peeta seemed embarrassed by her antics, because when she managed to choke out a thank you the next morning, he’d just shrugged it off and disappeared into the bathroom.

After shoving her bag into an overhead bin, Katniss practically crawls over the two other people in her row for the window seat. Peeta settles into the row behind hers.

It’s only a two-hour flight, but she manages to take a brief nap with her earbuds in and her music on. She’s jarred awake when the plane’s wheels hit the ground, and she waits as the rows ahead of hers clear out before she can scoot out into the aisle. She reaches up for her bag, but Peeta is already grabbing it, along with his own, and hands it to her. Giving him a brief smile, she exits the plane with him behind her.

They don’t have to wait at bag claim for any other luggage since they’ll only be in town for a day, so they head for the exit. She wonders if they should split a cab—it seems silly to take two separate taxis, if they’re going to the same general area. She’s just worked up the nerve to ask him when someone yells out his name.

“Peeta!”

Katniss’ eyes dart toward the source, Peeta already striding in that direction. Glimmer waves frantically at him, a bright smile on her face, before running to meet him halfway, and he scoops her up into a hug.

Katniss watches their reunion, rendered speechless and immobile. She’s not sure why she’s so stunned to see Glimmer. Of course, she’s here to pick up her boyfriend. And even though it’s nearly 2 in the morning, she looks flawless, dressed in skinny jeans and a brown leather jacket over a white crop top. Her long, golden hair is glossy and effortlessly curled.

When they kiss, Katniss tastes something sour in the back of her throat, and she realizes she’s still gawking at them slack-jawed in the middle of baggage claim. Averting her eyes, she hurries past them, but, despite her better judgment, she glances over at them one more time. Her breath catches when she sees the hard, green-eyed look Glimmer directs at her over Peeta’s shoulder, something cold trickling through Katniss’ veins. Suffice it to say Glimmer has definitely seen the video.

But just like that, the look is gone, and Glimmer is smiling at Peeta again, kissing his lips.

The brisk air of outside is a welcome relief, cooling her heated cheeks once she steps through the sliding doors, and Katniss looks around aimlessly until she finds the taxi stand off to the side. The attendant tells her a cab will be around in a few minutes, so she waits.

There’s nobody to pick her up. Her mother is working a night shift at the hospital, and while Prim is home from school, Katniss didn't feel comfortable having her baby sister drive out to the airport, especially this late at night. She’d assured them that she didn’t mind taking a cab home, but a part of her wishes she’d had someone to greet her at the airport, like Glimmer did for Peeta.

While she’s waiting at the stand, Peeta and Glimmer walk out across the way, heading toward the parking lot. Their hands are linked, and she laughs at something he says, echoing like tinkling bells through the parking structure. Katniss can’t look away. Her pulse flutters when she sees Peeta hesitate, glancing around like he’s searching for her. He spots her, and it looks like he’s going to stop, to call out something to her, but then Glimmer pulls on his hand imploringly, and he relents, giving his girlfriend a smile. To Katniss, he just gives a reluctant wave in farewell.

She barely manages to lift her hand in return, finally forcing her eyes away. She’s relieved when she sees a black airport taxi pull up, and she slides into the back seat. She has to clear her throat before she can give the driver the address. It’s another relief when he pulls away from the curb, seemingly in no mood to engage her in small talk, which suits her just fine.

The knot in Katniss’ throat is thick, and she has to swallow a couple times to get it down. Inexplicably she feels a wave of loneliness wash over her as the cab slips through the night, the trees smudging past her window.

She wonders how it’s possible to feel so homesick but still dread being home.

Katniss takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly, blinking against an unexpected rush of tears.

Not for the first time, she really misses her dad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk me up on tumblr! I'm muttpeeta :)


	9. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I was planning on a certain thing happening this chapter, but I got a little wordy so it didn't end up panning out, yet so...I'm sorry! Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter!

“I’m gonna watch it again!”

Katniss groans into the crook of her elbow, sprawled out on her childhood bed, exasperated by her little sister’s too-early enthusiasm. “Prim. How many times are you going to watch it?” she asks, frustrated. After she’d woken up (late this morning; last night had been utterly exhausting), Prim had bounded into her bedroom with her laptop in hand, the “Jungle” music video keyed up and ready for repeated viewings.

Now, Prim is lying on her stomach, the laptop perched at the foot of Katniss’ bed. Katniss hadn’t bothered to sit up to watch it; she’d just folded her arms over her face to shield her eyes. Prim has already watched it twice now.

“Oh come on, Katniss, this is so cool! And you look so badass!” Prim grabs her ankle through her comforter and gives it an enthusiastic shake. “I can’t believe you don’t want to watch it, like, every day!”

“Once was enough,” she mumbles. “You know I can’t stand watching myself.”

That, and she really can’t stand watching herself makeout with Peeta. Not if she wants to keep her sanity for the duration of this tour.

“Well, all my friends back in Frisco think it’s cool. So I’m cool by default,” Prim says.

“ _Frisco_ ,” Katniss mocks, moving her arm to look at her sister. “Man, Prim, California sure has changed you.” She laughs when Prim grabs a pillow to smack her with. Turning back to her laptop, she hits play on the video again. Katniss hears herself singing the first verse of the song, and she sighs, slinging her arm back over her face.

“Well, I’m glad I could help your street cred in _Frisco,_ little sis. I’m gonna go back to sleep now.”

The bed shifts, and Prim lies down beside her, prying her arm off her face. Katniss squints at her. “I only get a day with you. Don’t sleep it away!”

“Well, don’t waste it watching that ridiculous music video,” Katniss says, twisting onto her side, and her sister rolls her eyes. She makes herself comfortable on Katniss’ other pillow like she’s priming herself for gossip.

“So. Tell me. How weird was it kissing Peeta?” Prim’s eyebrows peak.

 _God_. Katniss feels her face heat, hopes her blush just looks like the effect of sleepy contentment. “Well...it’s weird kissing anyone you’re not, like, dating.” Except she’s kissed plenty of people she wasn’t exactly _dating_. Like Darius. She tries to articulate her point better, “Or, you know, anyone you’re not...meant to be kissing.”

She almost pulls a face at herself. That came out more telling than she intended. Prim seems to agree, because she scrunches her nose peculiarly.

“Meant to be kissing? Like, because he has a girlfriend?”

Katniss exhales and rolls onto her back, forcing herself to sit up. She winces when she catches sight of the music video on the laptop, still playing, and she hurriedly leans over to stop it before it can get to _the_ kiss. “Yes. It’s weird kissing someone who has a girlfriend, even if it’s just pretend.”

Prim hums thoughtfully, wiggling her toes. “Is his girlfriend pissed?”

Recalling the death glare she got in the airport last night, Katniss snorts. “Yeah. I’d say she probably wants to flay me alive.”

“Mm. Especially if she’s been reading the comments on the video.”

Katniss’ eyes go wide, darting from Prim to the paused video. “What do you mean? What are the comments saying?”

“Just...you know. That you two are...” She makes a crude gesture with her hands to simulate sex, and, face flushing at the implication, Katniss practically lunges for the laptop again.

“What!” But she jerks her hands back. _No_ , she isn’t going to read the comments. Dammit. This is what Effie and Haymitch warned them about. Of course, their fans already hope and think she and Peeta are getting intimate behind closed doors. She knows that; it’s the point of their facade. She doesn’t need to confirm for herself just exactly _how intimate_ they think they really are.

Releasing a hard breath, Katniss slams the laptop shut with a little more force than she means to just so the temptation to obliterate her lingering sanity is beyond her reach. “Can we not talk about the video anymore? I mean, about the tour or the music or—” she wants to say _Peeta_ , but she catches herself, “—or any of it. I only have today with you. I’m putting a moratorium on tour talk.”

Prim’s expression is contrite as she sits up with a smile. “Whatever you want. Hey, can we get a head start on dinner? I'm  _really_ looking forward to making dad’s green bean casserole,” she moans hungrily, already jumping out of the bed. At the offhand mention of her dad, Katniss has to take a deep breath to steady herself. For some reason the thought of him makes her feel short of breath.

It’s not unusual for Prim to say something so casually about their dad without realizing how it affects Katniss. Prim was a lot younger when he died. It didn’t hit her quite as hard as it'd hit Katniss. And their mother. Prim's memories are happier, more carefree. Katniss’ remembrance of him is always veiled in something more gutting. Something more punishing.

Swallowing against the lump in her throat, Katniss pushes a smile onto her lips and follows Prim out of her bed. Her sister means well. Prim really wouldn’t remember the Thanksgivings Katniss used to help their dad make that green bean casserole. “Yeah. I can make that. Assuming mom went grocery shopping before she went to work.”

Prim gives her a knowing look from the doorway. “No, but I went yesterday for her. No worries.”

Of course.

When they step into the hallway, they run into their mother on the stairs, just returning from an all-night shift at the hospital. She looks exhausted, and her eyes widen in surprise at the sight of Katniss.

“Oh—” Her brow creases with confusion, and she presses a hand to her forehead. “I didn’t realize you were back yet. God, is it Thursday already? I almost forgot.”

Katniss tries not to the let the hurt her comment causes her show on her face, but she has to press her lips together to stop them from forming a frown. “Yeah. I got in last night.” Her expression is flat, but her tone must convey something because her mother sighs wearily.

“I’m sorry, Katniss. Was your flight okay at least?”

She nods in response, and Prim bounces down the hallway to hug their mother when she reaches the top stair. “We’re gonna start cooking. Do you want to help?”

“I need a nap first, sweetie. I’m about to fall over. I’ll help after, okay? Has the turkey thawed?”

“No turkey this year, mom. I’m vegetarian now, remember?” Prim says sternly. By the look on their mother’s face, it’s clear she doesn’t remember. Katniss isn’t surprised.

“We’re making faux turkey,” Katniss adds, and their mother shakes her head with a quiet laugh. She moves toward her older daughter and takes her into a hug. Katniss stiffens reflexively at first before returning the embrace.

“It’s good to have you home, Katniss.”

“It’s just for the day,” Katniss reminds her, pulling back. “Gotta fly back out tonight at 11.”

Her mother nods. “Okay. Well, we can talk more after my nap. I want to hear how things are going with your music and the tour.”

With that, her mother heads into her bedroom at the end of the hall, shutting the door. Katniss thinks about how haggard she looks, the blue shadows under her eyes. She knows it’s more than just the hospital shifts keeping her up all night. Every year it’s the same.

Taking a steadying breath, Katniss turns back to the stairs and pushes a smile onto her face for Prim’s sake. “You’re in charge of the faux turkey. I’ll handle the green bean casserole.”

* * *

Sliding her bag from her shoulder, Katniss plops down in a seat at the gate for her late-night flight. Then, pulling the bag onto her lap, she takes her phone out to devote the next 15 minutes or so to the frustrating app game WordBrain while she waits to board.

Her stomach is uncomfortably full from the surprisingly good vegetarian turkey concoction Prim put together for dinner, plus the green bean casserole and mashed potatoes and store-bought pumpkin pie. It wasn’t the fanciest Thanksgiving meal they’d ever had, but it was satisfying. Prim, god bless her, had dominated conversation all throughout dinner about her time in California and her classes and the clubs she’s joined, the friends she’s made. Katniss talked a little about the tour, the progress they’ve made on the album, but she had little other details to tell their mother. Not for lack of interest on her mother's part, but Katniss just hasn’t connected emotionally with her in years. They both seem comfortable with that status quo now.

For the most part, the constant chatter kept Katniss’ thoughts from drifting to her father and the giant hole left by his absence that’s filled their house ever since she was 12. Still, it loomed, and despite knowing she’ll miss Prim, Katniss was relieved when she was finally on her way back to the airport. This time, her mother dropped her off, with Prim along to see her off, so she hugged them both tightly before walking into the airport.

She knows Peeta will be on this flight too, but she’s not sure whether he’s already around somewhere. She deliberately made herself not look for him when she approached their gate; she’s deliberately making herself not look around for him now. She’s not sure how she feels about seeing him again. It’s confusing. Her stomach is tight with nerves, anxiety and dread, but anticipation, too. It’s been weird not being around him for the past 20 hours. She’s so used to seeing him day in and day out—in the last three months, they’ve barely gone more than half an hour without seeing each other.

She’s so engrossed in her thoughts and her worries that she’s not aware of the person sitting down beside her until an elbow bumps her own. She nearly drops her phone in surprise when her arm jerks at the contact, and when she glances up to her left, she sees Peeta.

Her heart lurches into her throat, her face brightening before she can wrangle in her expression, but then she clamps the response down, shuttering her eyes, swallowing hard as if she could force her heart back into her chest.

He offers her a small, thin-lipped smile in acknowledgement. “Hey. Happy Turkey Day.”

Katniss forces her gaze back to her phone, inhaling deeply through her nose. “Actually, my sister doesn’t eat turkey now. We had fake turkey.”

“Well...Happy Fake Turkey Day, I guess. Thanksgiving is all about the sides anyway, right?”

She can see his smile widen from the corner of her eye, but she doesn’t look up. She feels silly for how quickly her heart is racing right now. Her knee begins bouncing. When can they start boarding? “Sure,” she says simply.

A beat passes, and Peeta asks, “Did you have a good visit with your family?”

“It was nice,” she says, and she chews on the inside of her lip in the silence that follows. "Just my mom and Prim." She should ask him the same. She’s not going to. She doesn’t want to know. She doesn’t want to know— “How was your dinner?” She hates herself. She hates that he looks surprised.

“It was good,” he says, but now he’s hesitant, like he’s not sure how much to say. “Ah...Glimmer’s parents aren’t vegetarian, but her mother follows these really weird fad diets. This time it was that she only eats food in liquid form. So...there were a lot of soups and purees.” He laughs thinly, running a hand through his curls.

“Fun,” she says, her tone clipped. Why did she ask?

“Better than the last diet she was on. It was a lot of yogurt and fermented foods.”

Katniss nods, wondering just how many dinners Peeta has attended at Glimmer’s parents’ house. Wondering why she wants to know.

Peeta scrubs a hand through his hair again, pushing it off his forehead. “How is Prim?” he asks after a silence. His knee is bouncing too. He quirks a brief smile at her. “Other than being averse to animal flesh now.”

Despite herself, Katniss smiles, and she looks away as if surveying the airport to hide it. Luckily, Prim is a topic she can talk about all day. “She’s good. She’s really enjoying California. And she’s really doing well in her classes.”

He nods. “That’s good. Prim’s a good person. I really like her.”

“She’s easy to like,” she says in agreement, leaning back in her seat. As an afterthought, “She’s always been the likable one in the family.”

A beat passes, and finally Peeta chuckles under his breath, giving her a sidelong glance. “I don’t know how I can even respond to that.”

Her smile is wry, bitter, and she folds her arms over her chest, rolling her eyes. “Believe me, I’m not someone you have to extol my shortcomings to.”

“You sure? I’ve been keeping a running list since August.”

She cuts a sharp look to his face, but he’s smiling, a soft reproach in his eyes. His knee knocks against hers, and she nearly jumps out of her seat. Somehow she manages to not outwardly react to the contact. “I’m kidding. We share a room. You think I’d risk getting eviscerated by you by keeping physical evidence like that around?”

She lets out a breath of amusement, almost palpably relieved that he’s joking. “I’m sure you just commit it to memory.”

“Exactly.” Katniss rolls her eyes, and he squints at her skeptically, still smiling. “Like you don’t keep a mental tally of everything you hate about me.”

She sniffs haughtily, looking away. “I don’t. I write them down in my diary every day.”

He laughs, and she tries not to react, tries to force a scowl on to her face, but she can feel the smile stretching her mouth, and she hates him for it, dammit.

“Oh, hey. I wrote a song earlier. I mean, I started to. Just some lyrics that came to me,” Peeta says, shifting in his seat to pull his phone out of his pocket. He brings up the Notepad app with a few taps, and then hands her his phone. Taking it from him, Katniss gives him a skeptical look. He looks nervous but excited, and as she starts reading, he leans closer to read along with her. He’s too close, and she catches a whiff of his familiar spicy scent. It takes her a second of heady reeling to move past that observation before she can focus on the lyrics.

 _What have I done?_  
_With my heart on the floor_  
_I must be out of my mind_  
_To come back begging for more_  
_But if you stay,_  
_Just stay for the night_  
_Swear that I’m yours_  
_And I’ll prove that I’m right_

The phone vibrates in her hands suddenly, surprising her, and a notification flashes on the screen. A text from Glimmer. It’s only there for a second before Peeta hastily dismisses the notification with a swipe of his finger, but Katniss manages to catch the gist of the text: _I miss you already!!_ and an obscene amount of sad-faced emojis and hearts.

“Sorry,” Peeta mumbles, clearing his throat, and Katniss just nods, trying to blink away the fog in her head so she can keep reading. Her breathing is quicker now, stuttery, and she swallows past the dryness in her mouth.

 _And all these flies kept me sleeping_  
_All my fears on their wings_  
_And your grandfather clock is still ticking_  
_But the chime never rings_  
_And how long must I stay?_  
_Will I lay by your side?_  
_Just to say that I’m yours_ _  
And you’ll never be mine_

The words stop there. When she’s done reading, Katniss nods to herself and pushes the phone back into his hand. “It’s good,” she says quietly. He pockets his phone, and she catches the uncertainty on his face, the conflict in his eyes, so she tries to force more sincerity into her voice, because they really are good lyrics. Great, actually. “I really like it.”

He smiles, rubbing his palms idly over his denimed thighs. “I could use some help with the rest of it.” It’s unnecessary to state, because every song they’ve written so far, they’ve written together, but she nods anyway.

They hear the announcement to board their flight, and something inside Katniss relaxes, a weight unburdening itself. She’ll miss Prim, of course, but she’s suddenly eager to get on that plane, to get out of this city, and back to the tour. Back to the chaotic routine she’s become accustomed to, back to the people, Darius, Finnick, Annie, even Haymitch. Even Peeta.

 _Especially_ Peeta, she realizes so suddenly she actually has to stop to catch her breath. Like she’s been punched in the chest. She gawks at the back of his head as he walks to the gate to greet the attendant, holding out his boarding pass. He starts to walk away but then, as if sensing she’s not behind him, he turns back around, his curious eyes finding hers.

And they just look at each other, Peeta questioning, Katniss trembling. She pushes a hand to her stomach to calm the swirling nerves. Inhales, exhales. God, has she already become so dependent on him, on her band mate, in such a short amount of time that a day without seeing him can fuck her up this much?

“You coming?” he calls to her. With another deep breath, she shakes herself out of her internal crisis and nods, following behind him. 

* * *

“This is my favorite place. I come here every time we’re in town,” Annie gushes to Katniss as they duck through the front door of Cashmere and Gloss, the favored sex shop of Milwaukee, apparently. But while Annie breezes in with casual nonchalance, Katniss huddles down into her jacket and beanie until she’s sure the glass door and tinted windows safely ensconce them from any passersby on the street who might recognize them.

Annie must notice Katniss’ wariness because she leans closer. “They’re very discreet here. I buy weird ass shit all the time, and no one says anything or runs to a tabloid.”

Katniss shrugs, the motion jerky, and suppresses a smile. “How weird are we talking, exactly?” she jokes as she surveys the store. Vibrators and lingerie and sex toys she doesn’t know the names for decorate every wall and aisle like some bizarre labyrinth of dildos. But she has to admit it’s at least a classy multi-dicked maze, with the otherwise muted, understated decor.

Annie winks at her before turning away, heading purposefully toward an aisle with the confidence of a woman who knows exactly what she’s looking for. Katniss hedges elsewhere, not sure where to start. She’s never been inside an actual sex store before. Her last, and only, vibrator she bought, she just ordered online. She’s not ashamed or embarrassed of other people knowing she masturbates, per se; she just doesn’t want people actively _thinking_ about her masturbating. Which was part of her hesitation strolling in today. She’s not well known, but with The Peacekeepers and The Victors having a show here, that means fans and media could be in the area. And god forbid she gets an email from Effie tomorrow with a link and a headline scandalously declaring “KINKY KATNISS EVERDEEN IS STARVED FOR SEX!” or something equally horrifying.

But when Annie mentioned she was coming to this boutique and asked if she wanted to tag along, Katniss ultimately agreed. Her trusty vibrator is back at home, collecting dust in her nightstand drawer. Having something more portable and concealable on her, something she can easily whip out and quickly get herself off with, would go a long way in helping relieve this building tension inside her that she has to endure for several more weeks yet. Like opening a little release valve on her sexual frustration.

She just needs a little pocket rocket vibrator, she decides, finding the aisle of dildos and vibrators. Her eyes slip over the realistic, intimidatingly large and life-like dildos that almost make her blush just by looking at them, until she finds the more simplistic, compact designs. She’s overwhelmed by the options, the bright colors, the bizarre attachments she wouldn’t even begin to know how to use. After minutes of careful perusing, she settles on a small, silver, pocket-sized vibrator called the Power Bullet. It looks harmless and inconspicuous, and most importantly, like it will get the job done the next time she’s in the shower with only a couple minutes to spare before they have to be on the road again.

And maybe, if she can get herself off enough times when she’s awake, she can stop having sex dreams of Peeta. The hope is she’ll be so sick of orgasms, she’ll be incapable of being aroused anymore. Oversaturation, right? She laughs under her breath—and then she realizes she’s standing in the middle of a sex store laughing to herself surrounded by veiny synthetic dicks. Vibrator in hand, she beats a hasty retreat to the front, where Annie already waits in line at the cash register, critically examining the still-packaged strap-on dildo in her hands.

Katniss grinds to a halt behind her, her face flushing as she gapes at the sex toy in her friend’s hands, and when Annie becomes conscious of her presence behind her, her eyes go wide. Her arms drop, as if to shield the strap-on behind her. They don’t speak for a beat, then Annie laughs, her cheeks apple-red.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” she says, sounding embarrassed despite her earlier bravado and indifference.

Katniss blinks. “I wish I hadn’t,” she admits, and then she starts laughing too, covering her eyes with her free hand. “God. I mean. That’s—cool? Yeah. But that is way more than I wanted to know about your and Finnick’s sex life.”

“We’ve been together for more than a decade,” Annie replies, shrugging. “Sometimes you just gotta try something new!” Fair enough, Katniss concedes. She idly wonders if she’ll ever be with someone long enough to reach the pegging stage. Is pegging the ultimate relationship goal? Is pegging inevitable?

In Katniss’ quiet contemplation, Annie notices the vibrator in Katniss’ hand. “Planning to use that with Darius?” she asks slyly, arching a conspiratory eyebrow, and Katniss’ eyes go round, heat creeping back into her face.

“What? No. We’re not—I mean, he and I...we’re not. Like that,” she says, her hands flapping aimlessly. _Yet_ , she should add. _We’re not like that yet_. But she bites her tongue, embarrassed.

“Oh. I thought...then—” Annie breaks off, her brow furrowing, head cocked. Confusion clouds her expression as she thinks. “I mean...Peeta has a girlfriend, doesn’t he?”

Katniss blinks at the tiny brunette, rendered momentarily speechless by the question. But then she understands the implication, the assumption Annie’s making. “No! I mean, _yes_ , he has a girlfriend. We aren’t—we haven’t—it’s not like that either,” she stammers, insistent, gripping the box to her chest. “I just wanted a vibrator for myself. You know, the main reason _anyone_ buys a vibrator.”

“ _Oh_.” Annie makes a face. “I’m sorry, I assumed—” She waves her hand dismissively, her expression sheepish. “Guess I just assumed since I was here for partner sex toys, you were, too.”

“Nope,” Katniss grits out, averting her eyes. “Just taking care of business myself these days.”

Annie laughs again, not maliciously, and her eyes soften. “I mean, I get it. Tour is so stressful and long, and there’s just so much adrenaline and sexual energy everywhere, if you don’t find a release, you’re going to snap. I didn’t used to tour with Finnick, when they first started out. But going months, nearly a year without having sex or being intimate with your partner is just—” She blows out a breath, and Katniss nods in understanding. Kind of.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

Annie’s next at the register, and the awkward moment blessedly passes. Katniss almost changes her mind and puts the vibrator back, so traumatized by the experience already, but when it’s her turn at the register, she just holds her chin up and looks the sales assistant in the eye while the blonde woman rings up her prurient purchase. 

* * *

Later, after her shopping excursion with Annie, Katniss tries to take a nap backstage before soundcheck. She and Peeta didn’t get to their hotel till after 3 a.m. the night before, and she hadn’t slept well the previous night at her mother’s, so despite how noisy it is around her, she can feel herself drifting off, her neck bent at an uncomfortable angle against the arm of the couch.

Something smacking against her chest startles her awake. She jerks up onto her elbows to glare at the assailant—Haymitch, of course—but he’s already throwing something at Peeta, who’s lying on the floor doing breathing exercises.

“Congrats on your first magazine feature,” he announces. Katniss looks down at the object on her chest. Tribute Magazine. It takes her foggy brain a moment to figure out what he’s referring to. They must have finally published the interview she and Peeta did with the reporter weeks ago.

Katniss and Peeta both sit up to flip through their respective magazines. Katniss’ heart accelerates as she thumbs through the pages until she finds it. A sidebar nestled within a larger feature on The Peacekeepers. There’s a inset photo of her and Peeta, from an early promotional shoot they did before they went on tour. It’s them in profile, staring at each other, but Peeta is at an angle lower than her, looking up. The photographer had him kneel on a block so Katniss could look down at him. She’d actually been quite smug by the arrangement, amused by the irritation that clouded his blue eyes as he glared up at her. It took the photographer a few tries to get a shot of them with mostly blank expressions, sans her smirk and his glower.

Her eyes linger on the photo now, before taking in the headline. “Victors Heat Up the Stage.” Her nose wrinkles. She thinks she can already figure where this is going.

“Should I do the honors?” Haymitch asks, holding up his own copy of the magazine before flipping to the bookmarked page. He clears his throat and raises his voice loud enough to be heard over the raucous conversations of the stagehands and roadies around them. Katniss and Peeta glance at each other then back to Haymitch as he reads the article out loud.

“ _You probably haven’t heard of The Victors. You’re not alone. Before August, nobody else had heard of them either. But that’s all about to change, as the folk-pop duo currently opening for The Peacekeepers on their cross-country tour is lighting up music venues—and social media—with their fiery on-stage chemistry._

_“The Victors have only been a band for a few months, since they were discovered in a seedy, hole-in-the-wall bar by District Thirteen Records, the same company that manages The Peacekeepers. Songstress Katniss Everdeen and guitarist Peeta Mellark had known each other for an even lesser amount of time—a handful of days, to be exact—before catching their big break. If that sounds a little too movie-magic to believe, all you have to do is watch them on stage to understand why any record company would be tripping over themselves to sign these two._

_“The sexual tension between the duo is practically a third band member, playing backup to Everdeen’s sweet, sultry voice, Mellark’s slick acoustic guitar riffs, and their perfectly blended harmonies. The music itself evolves on a daily basis, with the addition of newer, sexier songs full of yearning and mutual pining to nearly every set. There’s something compelling in the way they perform, something you can’t take your eyes off, just as they can’t seem to take their eyes off each other._

_“It’s no wonder their social media pages are rife with excitable fangirls speculating on the are-they-aren’t-they nature of the duo’s relationship, despite the coy refrain from both Everdeen and Mellark that they’re just friends. The Victors recently released a fun, colorful music video for their single ‘Jungle,’ which features the raven-haired beauty and the dimpled golden boy in infuriatingly flattering spandex and a steamy, softcore porn-esque kiss that only helps fuel the rumors._

_“Real or not real, it’s hard not to buy into the well-orchestrated show-mance, especially when Mellark speaks with such breathtaking earnestness of his fellow band mate. ‘I fell in love with her voice the moment I heard her sing,’ he told me one night on their tour, making even this jaded journalist swoon. That’s the kind of stuff guaranteed to spark conspiracy theories—not to mention YouTube clicks and album sales._

_“The Victors’ full-length album promises to be a red-hot debut. Look for it early next year. In the meantime, find out when they’ll be in your city at thevictors.com.”_

Katniss schools her expression into one of nonchalance, trying not to react to the self-consciousness and embarrassment heating her face at the reporter’s assessment of her and Peeta’s professional relationship. It’s nothing they haven’t already heard. Hearing it in such plain, evocative language, however, and from a seasoned music journalist, is rather unsettling.

“So...seems like they like us,” Peeta says evenly, looking at Haymitch. His cheeks are ruddy. Probably having his quote read back to him embarrasses him, especially with the way it’s used to corroborate the supposed romantic and sexual tension between them. Katniss directs her gaze down to her lap, rereading snippets of the article but not really seeing the words. She remembers how stunned even she felt hearing him say that to the reporter.

She’s so glad she barely spoke in that interview.

Haymitch snorts, balling the magazine in his fist and smacking it against his other palm. “Kids, they love you. We’re fielding requests for more interviews already. I’ll fill you in on the details when we’ve hammered out a schedule.” With that, he walks out of the room.

An awkward silence between her and Peeta follows, even with the noise around them, until Peeta scoffs faintly, standing up. “‘Golden boy.’ I think I’m offended.” He drums the magazine against his outer thigh, and she finally looks up at him, grateful for the diversion.

“Sounds pretty apt to me,” she says with a shrug. “You look like you could be in a boy band. I told you you’re no James Dean.”

“Yeah, I don’t hear you objecting to the ‘raven-haired beauty’ descriptor either,” he says dryly, and she flushes.

“Well...the whole article is overblown,” she demurs with a dismissive wave of her hand and a strained laugh. She’d been too focused on the over-the-top descriptions of their “sexual tension” to pay much attention to the rest, even the wildly flattering comments about herself.

“No, that was at least accurate,” he says, carding his fingers through his hair. It takes her a moment to understand what he means, but he’s already walking away, toward the refreshments table. Her eyes follow him, her cheeks warming as his comment registers. Did he just agree with the article’s assessment that she’s beautiful? She can’t stop watching him as he crouches down next to the cooler and grabs a water bottle, idly sliding her finger tip back and forth across her bottom lip.

She thinks back to their first set together, in The Mine. She hasn't thought about that night in a long time, how amazingly well they played together, how they closed down the bar after hours talking to each other. She's embarrassed now, remembering how she asked him back to her place and how he immediately rejected her, but before that moment, before everything went to shit between them...she remembers the way he looked at her. Like he wanted her. That heat, however brief and ephemeral—there's no way she only imagined it.

Eventually, she forces her gaze away from Peeta, before he turns to catch her ogling him, and drops it to the magazine in her lap. She stares at the photo of them for a moment, appreciating for the first time just how...aesthetically pleasing it is. Something about the composition, the contrast of their coloring, the way it looks like, absent the context of the photo shoot, he’s almost worshiping her. Inhaling tremulously, Katniss blows the breath out forcefully, then reads the article once more, her mind lingering on the third paragraph.

_“There’s something compelling in the way they perform, something you can’t take your eyes off, just as they can’t seem to take their eyes off each other.”_

Her skin prickles and tightens. She knows that’s how they perform, a deliberate choice they’ve made for their set. But she’s not sure she really grasped just how...intimate their performance style came across to casual viewers. Not for the first time, she’s curious what exactly their fans are saying online, on social media. She thinks of the comments Prim told her about on their music video, and despite her better judgment, she pulls her phone out of her pocket. She lifts her eyes briefly, her breath catching when she sees Peeta looking back at her. He quickly turns away, and she dry swallows the lump in her throat. Starts to open Facebook, which Effie forced her to install on her phone even though she refuses to let her or Peeta respond or post anything themselves on their band page.

Someone plops down on the couch beside her right then, distracting her from her mission. Darius. She blinks at him for a second, dazed as he grabs Peeta’s abandoned magazine off the cushion to flip through. “This the new issue with our interviews?”

“Yeah.” Shaking her head imperceptibly, she puts her phone away.

Darius shuffles through the pages until he finds the interview, and her nervousness spikes as he begins to silently read. After a moment he hums disinterestedly. “Same ol’ puff piece,” he says about The Peacekeepers article. He turns to the page with the The Victors article, his eyes skimming the short piece, and Katniss struggles not to squirm, wanting to fling herself off the couch, when he finally laughs.

“Wow. They really make it sound like you two are fucking.”

Her eyes go wide, an incredulous scoff catching in her throat, before she forces an indifferent laugh of her own. “Yeah, that’s—I guess that’s the idea.” She looks away, chewing on her lip. She can feel his gaze on her, heat blazing along the apples of her cheeks, and when she glances back at him, he’s studying her critically. Her stomach twists; she’s afraid of what he’s looking for, but then he just smiles, slumping down in the couch to stretch his legs out in front of him.

“The games we must play, huh?” he says offhandedly, and she shrugs, pulling her braid over her shoulder to fidget with. He nudges her with his elbow, grabbing her attention again. His next words are meant to be reassuring. “Eventually they’ll pay attention to just the music. We all have to pay our dues first, though.”

She looks away and nods. Haymitch keeps telling them the same thing. Selling this fake romance is part of their dues, she supposes. But she worries what happens after—if the illusion shatters, will the fans feel duped? Will they stick around?

What if they’re forced to play this charade for the rest of their lives?

And the longer the charade goes on, how do you keep drawing the line between what’s real and what’s not?

* * *

The Tribute Magazine article has made Katniss’ life hell.

More accurately, it’s made Peeta’s life hell, which in turn has made her life hell. Glimmer was understandably upset when she read it, and because Katniss has to share a room with him every single day, in the last week she’s been privy to more of their over-the-phone arguments than she can count. Despite her best efforts to not listen or to duck out of the hotel room or hang out with someone else when they're on the phone together, she’s heard Peeta’s frustrated, hushed reassurances to his girlfriend, or seen his weary, resigned frowns as he reads texts and types back furiously.

She feels guilty, even though she hasn’t done anything wrong. His relationship isn’t her concern, but it’s hard not to feel responsible somehow. She tries to alleviate the guilt, tries to keep her and Peeta’s relationship strictly professional, so she hangs out with Darius more. Like she’s trying to prove something to everyone else, to Peeta and Glimmer and Lavinia Michaels, the Tribute Magazine reporter.

Like she’s trying to prove something to herself.

Hours into their drive to the next tour stop, she shifts in the passenger seat. It’s after 2 a.m., but Katniss feels restless with post-show energy and adrenaline. Her left foot is hiked up on the seat, and she bounces her heel anxiously, despite Haymitch’s repeated swats from the driver’s seat to get her to stop. Peeta’s in the back, probably in the middle of another text fight with Glimmer.

Katniss grabs her phone out of her purse to give herself something to do. She plays a few rounds of WordBrain before getting frustrated and giving up, and soon she finds herself on Facebook. She’s studiously avoided it for a while now, as per Haymitch and Effie’s instructions, despite her mounting curiosity, but now she can’t fight it. Her nosiness wins out, and she navigates to their page and scrolls down until she finds the post about their music video. Her eyes widen when she sees the number of comments. 289. Do they even have that many fans? Amused with the thought, she smiles to herself, but that smile quickly fades as she begins reading the comments.

_OMG they’re so hot together! Are they dating? They should be!_

_Daaaaaamn that kiss tho._

_I saw them open for the Peacekeepers! So good! I thought they were going to fuck on stage lol_

_Is it weird to ship people IRL? I kinda ship these two._

_They’re totally hooking up right??!_

_I don’t even know who these people are, but this is a hot video…_

_I’m pretty sure they’re not dating. My friend’s cousin said she knows Peeta’s actual girlfriend, they go to the same school._

_^^Well his gf might wanna keep an eye on him then...If they haven’t hooked up yet, I’m sure it’s only a matter of time lol_

_Dude if my bf was looking at another girl like that AND making out with her in videos… >_< _

Katniss exhales harshly, abruptly locking her screen and slamming her phone down on her thigh. She swipes at her forehead; an uncomfortable sweat had broken out along her skin while she was scrolling through the comments.

No wonder Effie and Haymitch warned them to never read the comments, christ.

The car slows, and she looks up, realizing Haymitch is pulling off the road into a Walgreens parking lot. A bright neon sign says it’s open 24 hours, but only two other cars occupy the parking lot. Katniss looks at Haymitch in question as he pulls into a spot.

“We need provisions,” he announces, but he just turns in his seat to glance between the two of them. “More accurately, _I_ need provisions. Something with caffeine, preferably.”

“I’ll get it,” Peeta readily offers from the back, like he’s eager to get out of the van. “What do you want?”

“Monster energy drink. Snickers bar. Cheetos,” Haymitch answers automatically, and Peeta rolls his eyes before looking to Katniss, his gaze prompting her order. She starts to shake her head to say she doesn’t want anything, but she pauses, the gears in her head turning when she suddenly has a thought. A crazy thought, maybe, but the idea takes root.

“I’ll go in with you,” she says, unbuckling her seat belt.

“I can just grab whatever you want.”

No, definitely not. Not this. She’s already blushing as she jumps out of the van. “I’ll get it,” she waves him off, slamming the passenger side door shut. She’s only a few steps through the lot before Peeta catches up with her.

“Seriously, I could’ve just picked up whatever you wanted while I got Haymitch’s stuff,” Peeta argues, and she’s actually caught off guard by the aggravation she hears in his voice. “What’s the big deal?”

“I need tampons,” she lies, hoping he’ll drop it. She’s not currently on her period, and she already has a box of tampons in her bag, but she’ll need more eventually, anyway.

Peeta just snorts beside her. “You think I haven’t bought tampons for a girl before? Like that would bother me?”

She shoots him a scowl as the automatic doors slide open to allow them entrance. “Well, I’m not your _girlfriend_ , so I don’t need you to buy my tampons for me,” she mutters, her face hot. She’s not looking at him now. “And you don’t know what I need.”

That shuts him up, and they part ways in the store, Peeta heading to the snacks, Katniss to the feminine care section. Luckily, it’s just the aisle she needs. She snatches a box of tampons off a shelf to continue her ruse before shuffling down the aisle toward the end, where the condoms are.

It never hurts to have condoms, right? She’s a sexually viable woman. Peeta has a girlfriend, but Katniss is single, and she shouldn’t have to be under some sort of self- or business-imposed celibacy just to please some fans or sell an album. Ridiculous. She can have sex with Darius, if she wants. She should be prepared.

Studying the different condom options, Katniss chews on her lip. Lubricated. Ribbed. Ultra thin. Magnum. So many choices. What if Darius has certain...needs?

“Really?” Peeta’s voice startles her, and her head snaps around to find him standing at the end of the aisle, his arms laden with snacks and beverages. Her stomach drops. His eyebrows are halfway up his forehead. And then he laughs, incredulously. “That’s what you really needed, condoms?”

Her mouth drops open, and anger flares inside her at the sound of his laughter. That he sounds so...disbelieving. She crosses her arms defensively.

“Yeah, so?”

Peeta stalks down the aisle toward her, the amused expression on his face strained. His head lists to the side. “And why are you buying condoms?”

She balks. “Are you—what else do people buy condoms for?” she says, teeth gritted. She finally just yanks a package of Trojans off the rack, not even registering what kind or type. “Christ, why are you being so nosy?”

“I share a room with you. Excuse me if I wanna know if you’re planning to have sex in our room,” he says, lip curling into the faintest of sneers.

She can’t believe she’s having this conversation with him in the middle of a Walgreens. “You don’t need to worry about that. I’m not into voyeurism,” she snaps, fingers trembling as she turns away from him, striding down the aisle. “And I don’t need to explain everything I do to you or ask your permission.”

He snorts behind her. “Okay, so you’re sleeping with—who, Darius?”

She spins around to look at him. The edge of suspicion and ridicule in his question appalls her. How dare he interrogate her. “Yeah. Maybe I am.”

“That’s interesting since you’ve been in the bed next to mine every night.”

At the register, Katniss throws her items down. “As if a bed is the only place to have sex. My sympathies to Glimmer for your lack of imagination,” she says drolly, too annoyed to care about the sales clerk listening to their conversation as she rings up her items. Which she is definitely pretending not to do, judging by how high her eyebrows spiked when Katniss said that.

“I know how to take care of my girlfriend. She doesn’t need your pity,” he replies coolly, but his jaw is tense, his cheeks red. Katniss pinches her lips together and pulls out her wallet to pay for her stuff. Peeta drops his items on the counter before she’s even been handed her receipt, and she levels a glare at him. He ignores her, focusing on the clerk.

“Hey, can I get a pack of Marlboro Reds?” he asks, and she narrows her eyes at him.

“You don’t smoke,” she accuses. What the hell is his angle?

He shrugs, glancing at her as the sales clerk scans the pack of cigarettes. His lips curl in amusement, but his eyes are hard. “Oh, I thought we were buying things we don’t have any use for.”

Before she can rear back and punch him, she snatches her bag of items off the counter and storms out of the store, not waiting for him. When she gets back in the van, she slams the door shut. “Feel free to just drive off and leave him,” she tells Haymitch.

He seems unfazed by her anger, his head resting on the headrest, eyes closed. “Not without my Snickers. What are you two fighting about now?”

The side door slides open then, and Peeta climbs inside, plopping down in the middle of the back seat. “Just him being an asshole as usual,” she says loudly, so Peeta knows she’s talking about him. Haymitch grunts, and Peeta scoffs under his breath, dumping Haymitch’s snacks in the console.

“Here,” he says, throwing a Twix bar into her lap. “Bought you some chocolate to go with those _tampons_ you said you needed.”

Glaring at him, she twists in her seat to throw the Twix bar back at him. He blocks it with his forearm, but his mouth snakes sideways in barely restrained amusement.

Haymitch finally sits up, leaning between the seats to grab the Twix bar from the backseat. “If you’re not going to eat it,” he muses, adding it to his stockpile.

Face burning, Katniss rolls her eyes and slumps down in her seat, gaze turned to the window, vowing to ignore them the rest of the ride. She'd ignore them the rest of the tour, if she could.

* * *

She might have made up her mind to sleep with Darius, but the box of condoms remains unopened, buried beneath her clothes in her bag. There hasn’t been a lot of free time in the past few days to put them to use, anyway; true to his word, Haymitch has scheduled them for a slew of radio interviews in every city they’ve stopped at since the Tribute Magazine issue hit stands.

Which is another way that article has ruined her life, but at least nothing’s been as disastrous as the interview with Johanna and Foxface. Just a lot of awkward denials about her and Peeta’s relationship while trying to steer the conversation toward their music.

But all this has left her with an unscratched itch that has her feeling restless and crabby. More so than usual. So when she returns to their hotel room one night after a workout session in the upstairs fitness center to find Peeta conspicuously absent, she’s elated. Grabbing her bag, she roots through her things until she finds her newly purchased but still unused vibrator she bought during her shopping trip with Annie. She takes it and her pajamas into the bathroom with her, locking the door as a precaution.

Stripping out of her sweaty gym clothes, Katniss waits for the water to heat up before stepping into the shower. She carefully puts her vibrator down on the soap holder and lifts her face to the spray, letting the stream run down her body, through her hair, massaging warmth into her sore muscles. She uses the hotel body wash to clean herself, lathering it in her palms and running the silky suds over the planes and curves of her body, first her arms, then her legs, her muscled calves and thighs, over the subtle swell of her hips to her waist and flat stomach.

When she reaches her breasts, she tips her head back in the water and closes her eyes. Her hands idly cup and knead the heavy flesh, and she traces her soft nipples with her pruned fingertips, pinching them into hard peaks. A responding ache pulses in her clit, and she sucks in a quiet, whistling breath through her teeth.

Her right hand slips down over her belly, between her thighs to feel the warm slipperiness beginning to slicken her folds. She ignores her clit for the moment, leisurely sliding her fingers back and forth through her lips, which gradually swell from her continued ministrations and the insistent plucking of her nipples. Impatiently, she pushes two fingers inside herself and moans softly, her walls hot and tight.

A memory of a preferably forgotten dream slips through her mind then—Peeta’s thick fingers fucking her while she rides his hand on stage—and she squeezes her eyes shut tightly in reflex, wanting to push the intrusive thought away. But her clit’s already throbbing with the idea, her two middle fingers increasingly slick with arousal—why fight it, here of all places, where it doesn’t matter, where she’s safe with her thoughts, safe from her vulnerabilities and the truth?

Her breasts feel heavier now, her nipples hard, and she tugs at them, rolls them under her thumb, alternatingly, as she drops the wall in her mind, letting in thoughts of Peeta’s hands on her, squeezing her tits, pulling on the nipples until her knees weaken. Blindly, Katniss grabs for her vibrator, nearly knocking it onto the tub floor in her haste, and switches it on. The humming buzz is thankfully drowned out by the running water. Spreading her feet some, Katniss starts with a gasp when the smooth, vibrating bullet touches her clit, nearly bringing her to her knees. She moves it away from the oversensitive nub and through her wet folds a few times before she pushes it inside herself, thrusting it in and out shallowly.

Her heart pounds in her neck, in the back of her throat, racing with the thought of Peeta doing this to her, pushing her forward, pushing the little vibrator through her lips with teasing determination. It’s not nearly thick enough to be satisfying, but the little vibrations on her walls, her folds, makes her belly churn deliciously until she can’t stand it anymore. She pulls the bullet out and presses it to her swollen clit, barely managing to choke down a loud moan.

One, two, three seconds, and she’s there, a swift orgasm swelling and crashing through her, pleasure overloading her senses. She has to brace her hand on the wall in front of her to keep herself upright, trying to lock her knees so she doesn’t slump to the ground as she trembles and quakes with the electrical currents sparking through her. The vibrator manages to ring a few aftershocks out of her, mild ripples of lesser orgasms causing her thighs to clench and her abdomen to tense until she finally pulls it out from between her thighs, sated.

Once her heart rate slows, Katniss turns off the vibrator and stands up straight, sputtering softly as the spray bounces off her parted lips from her soft, gasping breaths. She cleans the little bullet off with soap and then washes her hair, her limbs feeling loose and jellied.

After her shower, she dries off and changes into her pajamas. As she brushes her teeth, she stares at her flushed, pleased reflection. Her cheeks are still pink, from both her orgasm and the shower. Embarrassment trickles in as she remembers her thoughts, her fantasy of Peeta, and she tries to push it away. Fantasies don’t mean anything.

The hotel door opens suddenly, and she jumps as her reverie is shattered. A knock on the bathroom door follows. “Katniss?”

Peeta.

She spits out toothpaste hurriedly. “Yeah?” she calls back, trying to not sound breathless.

“Are you almost done? I really need to get in there.”

She’s too flustered and guilty to muster her usual annoyance at his rushing her, and she hastily finishes scrubbing at her teeth, rinsing and spitting out watery toothpaste until only a mild mintiness lingers. When she’s done, she grabs her dirty workout clothes and flings the door open. Peeta’s waiting, his expression mildly agitated, his eyes distant, as he leans against the wall, but she can’t meet his gaze, barely registers the stormy expression on his face, doesn’t really care what’s caused it now.

“All yours,” she mutters as she moves into the room toward her bed to drape her workout clothes on the back of a chair.

“Thanks,” he replies distractedly, pushing off the wall to stalk into the bathroom. The door shuts behind him, but it opens again a moment later, as Katniss digs through her stuff for her moisturizer.

“Katniss.”

It’s almost a question, and she looks up, confused, as he steps out. She hears another sound her brain doesn’t quite put together, not quickly enough, until he says, “I think you forgot something of yours.”

And then she realizes the sound she couldn’t identify immediately: the hum of her vibrator, which Peeta holds in his hand.

Blood drains from her face as horror washes through her, then mortification, restoring that blood to her hot cheeks. She leaps at him and wrestles her vibrator from him. He relinquishes it readily, but his face contorts with laughter. Once she has her vibrator in her hand, she quickly switches it off and cradles it to her chest, anger now swirling among her myriad of conflicting emotions.

“What the hell!” she blurts. “Do you normally just touch people’s personal belongings like that?”

He lifts his eyebrows at her outburst, but a smile still curls his mouth at the corners, as he holds his hands up defensively. “I didn’t realize what it was at first. How was I supposed to know it was a _personal belonging_ of yours before I looked at it?”

She sputters for a proper, scathing rebuttal. “Who else’s would it be?!” He’s just grinning now, laughter in his eyes, and she glares at him, her whole body flushed with the horror of this awful, awful moment. “Why are you smiling like that?!”

He laughs, fanning a hand through his hair before shrugging. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just—amused. I didn’t realize you were so,” he waves a hand at her, “frustrated.”

There’s a terseness to his words, an edge to his derision. Her lips part in astonishment, speechless, until her indignation swiftly returns. “What, you think women don't masturbate?" She shakes her head angrily. "And like  _you_ haven’t beat off once this _whole tour_?”

His lips press together, but the line of his mouth is still smug, mocking. “Are you wanting to know if I jack off?” He doesn’t let her squeeze out a denial, adding, “Sure. Sometimes I need a stress reliever. But not because I’m sexually frustrated. I guess you still haven’t put those condoms to use yet, huh?”

She gawks at him, but he just huffs out a derisive laugh, and then he disappears back into the bathroom. She scowls, her mouth tightening defensively as his words linger in her head. It draws her humiliation to the forefront. She shouldn’t be—she’s _not—_ embarrassed that he knows she was masturbating, but his smug self-assuredness and self-righteousness, that she’s sexually frustrated while he’s just breezy and unbothered, shames her.

Until she remembers the way he leered at her in the gym when he didn’t think she was looking, the way he ogled her body. The way he keeps needling her about Darius.

Her back stiffens, and she narrows her eyes. Like hell he’s not sexually frustrated, like he’s not attracted to her in some way, however minimally, however he vigorously denies it. He doesn’t get to hold his knowledge of her past attraction to him, her once-upon-a-time proposition of him, over her head forever like he’s above this _whatever_ fucked-up thing between them.

Katniss stashes her vibrator back into her bag and shimmies out of her pajama shorts, leaving on just her night shirt and underwear. Then she crawls into her bed underneath the covers and grabs her phone to bide her time while Peeta finishes up in the bathroom.

He re-emerges a moment later. She doesn’t look at him, doesn’t speak. He’s shirtless, dressed only in lounge pants; she stares intently at her screen, thumb scrolling, keeping her face passive while he climbs into his own bed. They sit in silence, Peeta settling in to read a book on his tablet like he does many nights.

She’s surprised when he speaks up after a moment. “I didn’t mean to make fun of you,” he says quietly, his voice rueful.

She forces a shrug, a brief glance at him before she looks back at her phone. “It’s fine,” she says, a little too easily. Even Peeta looks slightly confused by her quick forgiveness, but he nods and goes back to reading.

After another moment, she takes a deep breath and puts her phone down on the nightstand. Showtime. “Well, goodnight,” she chirps, pushing the covers back so she can sit up on her knees. She leans across the bed, away from him, to reach for the lamp. Conveniently, her shirt rides up, revealing what she is sure is a healthy glimpse her lacy, dark green panties and her ass cheeks.

“Good—” A sharp inhalation, then, “ _What are you doing_?” Peeta’s voice is alarmed. She glances over her shoulder at him, her back arching for emphasis, her eyes round with feigned cluelessness.

“I’m turning off the light,” she answers innocently. His wide eyes dart between her face and her ass, his cheeks reddening as he tries not to look, tries to force his gaze back to her face. She sees the muscles of his throat contract as he swallows, sees his nostrils flare, and she wants to laugh victoriously, vindicated. Instead, she continues to play oblivious, taking her time in flipping the lamp off.

She settles back under the covers and curls up on her side, facing the wall. Eventually, Peeta turns off his lamp too, pitching the room into darkness. She listens to him in the silence, the labored attempts to control his quick breaths, the restless movements of his body as he shifts, tosses and turns in his bed. Minutes lapse, she doesn’t know how many, but she pretends to sleep, keeping her body still, her breathing light and even.

Finally, she hears him pull his covers back and quietly, carefully, get out of his bed. His tread is light as he walks to the bathroom, as if he were a ghost moving past her bed, and she has to strain to hear the latch click as he shuts the door behind him. A moment later, the shower cuts on.

A triumphant grin blossoms across her face, and she listens to the water run, knowing with certainty now that she’s not the only one relieving some sexual frustration tonight. A strange sense of pride surges through her, succeeded by ripples of excitement and giddiness.

But the good feelings quickly ebb and deflate, the victory short-lived, and guilt creeps in. The thought of Glimmer soundly wipes the smile from her face.

What the hell is she doing? There is little dignity in seducing another woman’s boyfriend. Katniss already knows how hard this has been for Glimmer, for her and Peeta’s relationship. Her satisfaction at one-upping him, proving their attraction is in some way mutual, is hollow, and her stomach churns with disgust. She’s ashamed of herself even more than she was earlier.

When Peeta eventually resurfaces from the bathroom, creeping back to his bed with the stealth of a guilty intruder, Katniss doesn’t dare move. She keeps her eyes squeezed shut, trying to push herself into the oblivion of sleep, trying to escape these feelings. And she wonders if the prevailing shame she feels throughout the room is hers alone.

* * *

She plans to wake up earlier than him so she can avoid him before soundcheck, but it took her longer than usual to fall asleep, and when she finally awakes, Peeta’s already gone. She’s relieved, knowing she won’t be able to look him directly in the eye for a while after her actions last night. He’s not dumb; he has to know what she was doing.

He never comes back to the room, however, and he’s nowhere in the hotel as far as she can tell; he isn’t with Haymitch or any of The Peacekeepers when she goes to hang out with them. His peculiar absence puts her on edge, adding nervousness and concern to her already confusing jumble of emotions

He finally shows up at the venue for the soundcheck late in the afternoon. She’s prepared to ignore him—feeling petulant over his disappearing act all day—but Peeta just smiles at her like nothing’s wrong. Like she didn’t flash him her ass the night before, like he didn’t jerk off in the shower because of it.

“Hey,” he says, grabbing a sub sandwich from the refreshments table and taking a large bite.

Katniss stares at him, uncomprehending. “Where were you?” she demands.

He shrugs, swallowing the food in his mouth before responding. “Decided to check out the city.”

“By yourself?”

“Yep.” He sits down on a couch to eat the rest of his sandwich. Nonchalant. His behavior irks her, but she can’t put her finger on why exactly. She should be grateful for the ruse, the chance to skate past the awkwardness of what happened. But damn if she’s going to talk to him about it, so she just grabs a water bottle and stalks over to where Finnick is practicing his downward-facing dog to join him in some much needed relaxation techniques.

At least the show goes off without a hitch. Mostly. Peeta will barely look at her during their set. If she happens to catch his eye while singing, his eyes flit away, over the crowd, or down at his hands as he strums the guitar.

She can’t believe how bizarre he’s acting. They stay out of each other’s way at the after party in Cato and Thresh’s suite, Katniss mainly hanging out with Darius, Peeta jumping from group to group. He must leave early at some point, probably while she’s playing a game of quarters with Darius and some roadies, because when she subconsciously looks around the room for him, he’s nowhere in sight.

After a while, she ducks out of the party too, her mood having steadily soured. Darius asks her if she wants to go back to his room, but she just wants to sleep and put this weird day behind her.

By the time she makes it back to their hotel room, the lights are off, and Peeta’s in bed, presumably asleep. He doesn’t stir when she walks into the room, and she can barely hear his soft breaths in the silence. Inexplicably aggravated, Katniss takes a quick shower and braids her wet hair before climbing into her own bed. Sleep is slow to come for the second night in a row.

Thankfully, they don’t have a show the next day and don’t have to check out in the morning. Katniss sleeps late, and when she eventually wakes up, Peeta’s gone, yet again. She tries not to care, not to wonder where he is, and she goes up to the gym to work out for over an hour just to keep her brain preoccupied and to burn off her mounting frustration.

But her mind keeps coming back to Peeta. She thinks about the song he started over Thanksgiving, which they’ve been working on together off and on in the past couple of weeks. They added more lyrics and came up with a basic melody, but they still need a bridge. As she’s running on the treadmill, her brain starts filling in the missing pieces, orchestrating more words and notes. Momentarily distracted from her aggravation with Peeta, Katniss is actually excited about finishing the song. She ends her workout abruptly and heads back down to their room so she can write everything down before she forgets.

When she steps through the door, she’s surprised to see Peeta. He’s standing at the foot of his bed, his bag open before him. Riding high on her endorphins, she’s flooded with an almost giddy relief.

“Hey, I was thinking some more about that song we’ve been working on,” she says, speaking quickly in her excitement. Her words are jumbled and breathless, her lungs still working hard from her recent exertion. “I think I’ve figured out the bridge. Do you wanna hear it?”

He only spares her a glance. “Ah. I can’t right now. But I trust your judgment.”

Frowning, Katniss finally takes him in. He’s packing, putting his clothes and belongings into his bag. “What are you doing?” she asks, confused. They don’t leave until tomorrow.

This time Peeta doesn’t look up as he zips up his duffel bag. “I got another room.”

Her eyes widen, her mind spinning to catch up. “You—what do you mean, you got another room? Like, Haymitch put you up in a different room?”

He scratches the back of his neck. “No. I, ah, I just paid for it myself.”

She can feel her heart thumping in her throat, her stomach sinking, and she gasps a little as she struggles to catch her breath. “Because of, of—” _Last night_ , she wants to ask, but she bites the words off. Peeta hikes his bag up onto his shoulder, and she’s trying to figure out what to say when a sharp, heavy knock on the door behind her interrupts. Bewildered, Katniss spins around and crosses the distance to the door in two steps to open it.

She’s not sure who she’s expecting, but it’s definitely not the woman in front of her. Katniss’ heart stops.

Glimmer.

Peeta’s girlfriend stands in front of her, dressed in black leggings, boots and a white parka, her shiny blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. At her feet is a red suitcase.

And she’s glaring at Katniss, her pink lips twisted into a faint sneer.

Katniss inhales, coughing on the spittle that gets stuck in her throat. “Hi,” she croaks, stupidly, standing in front of this gorgeous bombshell in her sweaty sports bra and gym shorts. She self-consciously pushes her slick hair back from her face, crosses an arm over her bare stomach.

Peeta’s behind Katniss suddenly, pushing the door open wider, and Katniss nearly stumbles into the wall to get out of his way. “Room’s all yours for the night,” he tells her with a forced, tight-lipped smile, his words imbued with heavy meaning. His eyes are looking past her, at a spot on the wall over her head. “Thought you’d appreciate that.”

Then he’s out in the hallway hugging Glimmer, and the door swings shut in Katniss’ face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song by X Ambassadors, "Litost." Thanks to hellotisalo for the rec!
> 
> I'm on tumblr as muttpeeta, let's talk!


	10. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the reviews and comments on the last chapter! I didn't have a chance to respond to them, but I was blown away by all the insights and discussions.
> 
> Fair warning for this chapter: There will be Katniss/Other smut, for those who can't really stand reading that. I understand. I hope you'll read and enjoy the rest of the chapter, though.

Haymitch grunts in acknowledgment when Katniss sits down beside him at the bar. “What’s wrong?”

She rolls her eyes at him as she settles onto the stool. “Why does there have to be anything wrong? I just wanted a drink,” she says, smiling tightly at the bartender when he nods at her.

“Something’s always wrong with you,” Haymitch snorts, the glass of his highball poised at his lips. “Something’s _definitely_ wrong with you if you’re choosing to drink with me instead of the others.”

It’s true. Everyone else went out to a club downtown to party on a night of neither a show nor traveling, but when Katniss realized that meant Peeta and Glimmer would be in attendance, _together_ , she opted out. But sitting in her hotel room by herself sucks, so she came down to the bar, pretty sure she’d be able to find Haymitch. And she did.

_You can take the alcoholic out of a bar_ , and all that.

He swallows a small mouthful of the amber liquor in his glass, and she shrugs, grabbing his damp napkin to fidget with. “Just didn’t feel like bar hopping tonight.” Not a total lie.

When the bartender comes over to her, she orders a gin and tonic. Haymitch knocks back the rest of his drink and asks for a whisky. “Can’t imagine what’s different about this night compared to every other night,” he says wryly, and she presses her lips together before unleashing her scowl.

“Well, can you blame me? It’s weird. His girlfriend hates me,” she mutters. Her fingers shred the napkin into soggy strips. Haymitch snorts again, this time with laughter.

“So? That’s the boy’s problem, not yours. This is your tour.” He spreads out his fingers. “Enjoy it.”

Katniss is contemplative, smiling absently when the bartender hands over her drink. She and Haymitch drink in silence for a moment before she speaks again.

“Do you know how long she’s staying?” she asks tentatively. He looks at her from the corner of his eye.

“As far as I know she’s on her winter break, so,” he shrugs. “When Peeta asked if she could come out, I said it was fine, as long as it didn’t interfere with the tour. Fans can’t know her or see her. If he wants to waste his money putting her up in every city the rest of the tour...” Again, another shrug, followed by a swig of whisky.

Katniss frowns, trying to not feel the disappointment. She should be relieved she gets the room to herself indefinitely. But...that means Glimmer could be around for weeks, at least until the holidays when they finally get an extended break from touring. “When did he—I mean, how long has he been planning this? He didn’t mention it to me at all,” she says, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

“Small wonder. You two are constantly biting each other’s head off instead of just talking like respectful human beings.” At her perfunctory glare, Haymitch inhales heavily through his nose, then exhales, like he’s actually considering her question. “Dunno, kid. He only asked me yesterday,” he replies. That surprises Katniss. Haymitch eyes her for a moment before confiding, “I talked to him two nights ago. We had a couple drinks together. He was pretty upset about some stuff and venting. Impression I got was that she’s been asking for a while, but he didn't agree till now.”

Her brow furrows as she stares at her drink. Two nights ago. It embarrasses her to think back to that point, remembering everything that happened between them in their hotel room. He seemed fine—no, that was right after he discovered her vibrator. (She blushes just thinking about it.) Before that, when he’d shown up in the room and she came out of the shower, he was upset about something. At the time, she didn’t really care.

Maybe if she’d just asked what was wrong then, they could have avoided all this whole mess. But would he have even told her? Haymitch is right. Neither of them is good at communicating with the other.

“It takes a strong person to date someone in the music industry,” Haymitch says sagely. “I keep telling him. Tours will make or break your relationships. Any relationship. It’s not easy.” He holds his glass up to her and smirks. “You did the smart thing, coming out here solo.”

She absently taps her glass to his. “I didn’t have anyone to leave behind,” she mutters truthfully, and suddenly she feels sadder than ever. “God. Drinking with you is more depressing than drinking alone.” She downs the rest of her gin and tonic.

“No one invited you, sweetheart,” he says good-naturedly. “My point is, you’re not attached. Why are you wasting your night with the middle-aged drunk at a hotel bar instead of partying with your rockstar friends and groupies? You won’t be young and in demand forever.”

She shakes her head, mostly at him but also at herself. Because she’s a coward, and she’s hiding. Haymitch is right. Why should she be the one hiding? This is her territory. Her tour. Her career. _Her_ people.

“You’re right,” she tells Haymitch, maybe for the first time ever. She sets her empty glass down. “Not about the groupies though.”

“Give it time.”

She scoffs. “I’m going to join the others. Thanks for the drink.”

“I didn’t agree to that,” he mumbles, but he waves her off when she smiles sweetly at him. “I’m tired of looking at you. Get out of my sight already.”

Katniss heads for the elevator and her room so she can change into something more club-appropriate.

* * *

The stuffy air of the club is a welcome relief to her wind-chapped limbs. Katniss had foregone a coat when she changed into a crop top and skirt in her room, leaving her arms and legs bare, plus a sliver of her stomach. Her teeth are still chattering as she sidesteps swaying, gyrating bodies and walks through the crowded club. Someone’s elbow catches on her arm, jostling the beer in his hand, and she cringes when she feels cool liquid seep through her skirt and dampen her thigh. The guy doesn’t notice, his attention on the girl in his clutches. Katniss pauses and surveys the damage, the growing brown stain on her white skirt.

Well. Good thing she wasted all that time changing into something cuter before coming here.

With a sigh, she stiff-arms her way through the rest of the crowd until she reaches the VIP section. She catches sight of Finnick’s bronze hair first and zeroes in on him. Annie is tucked against his side on a half-circular couch in the semi-private alcove. When Katniss approaches the couch, Finnick spots her, and after a delayed moment of recognition, a grin lights up his face.

“Everdeen! You came, you lying piece of shit!” He wiggles off the couch to grab her, pulling her down and planting a kiss on her lips. Blushing, Katniss palms his face and pushes him back. Annie just laughs and drapes herself over her husband’s lap to hug her.

“Turns out, Haymitch isn’t such great company,” she says, her eyes unconsciously sweeping around the group—Thresh, Cato, roadies, random girls. Peeta and Glimmer. Katniss tries not to let her gaze linger on them, tries not to outwardly react, but in that split second of acknowledgment the image of them sears itself into her brain.

Peeta averts his eyes, dropping his head forward to scrub his hand up and down the back of his scalp. Glimmer leans against him, her hair tumbling glamorously across his shoulder and chest like liquid gold, her bare legs crossed practically over top of his, her hands tightening around his arm in a blatant show of possession. She doesn’t scowl at Katniss, at least, but there’s nothing welcoming or warm in her expression either. Her green eyes glitter under the colorful club lights, her chin tipped up defiantly.

Forcing an uncharacteristically large smile, Katniss looks at everyone else again and waves when a few of the others greet her—noticeably, _not_ Peeta nor Glimmer. It’s not until her second pass over the group that she realizes Darius isn’t among them. She leans into Finnick’s side. “Where’s Darius?” she asks, loud enough to be heard over the music, loud enough to be heard by everyone at the table. Hopefully.

Finnick’s nodding his head to the music, his eyes glazed over, and it seems to take him a second to comprehend her question. He smiles grotesquely, jutting his chin over her shoulder. “At the bar.”

“Thanks,” she yells, clawing her way out of the sinkhole of a couch until she’s on her feet. Someone slaps her ass, and she yelps, face burning as she spins around to find Finnick and Annie cackling. She kicks his leg, hard, before spinning away, once again avoiding looking at Peeta and Glimmer as she goes.

Pushing her way to the bar, Katniss has to stand on her tip-toes to scan the crowd until she finds Darius’ unmistakable shock of red hair. He’s talking to a guy whose face she vaguely recognizes—Thom the stagehand, she realizes a second later—and a couple unknown girls. Once Katniss is behind him, she grabs his elbow and tugs, gently, to get his attention. His head swivels until he finds her, and she smiles. “Hey—”

His eyes brighten, a grin morphing his face, and suddenly he’s kissing her, his hand cupping her face, pulling her under his arm, against his side. She’s momentarily stunned until his tongue touches hers, then she's kissing him back, trying to match the enthusiasm and eager swipes of his tongue.

After he’s thoroughly sucked her face, he releases her but keeps her tight against him. She blinks, dazed. “I didn’t think you were coming,” he says into her ear. Shouts, really.

“Me neither,” she replies, glancing over her shoulder self-consciously at the people he was talking to, but Darius seems unconcerned, sipping his beer. The girls have lost interest anyway, giving Thom their full attention now.

“Glad you came. Whaddya wanna drink?”

Katniss turns her face to him. “Whatever you’re drinking.” She studies his face more closely now, taking in his plastered-on grin. The sheen of sweat. The unnatural largeness of his pupils, which nearly swallow his pale blue eyes. She squints at him and lifts her mouth to his ear. “Are you high?”

He shrugs, unconcerned. “I took some molly. Cato’s got it. Want me to get you some?”

He starts to move her back toward the group, and she stops him, shaking her head. Laughing awkwardly. “No, it’s—I’m good.” She thinks back to Finnick and Annie. They’re usually happy when they’re out, but they seemed a little...friendlier than usual tonight. They must be rolling too. They probably all are.

But Peeta looked normal, she thinks as an afterthought. Normal being his standard-issue avoidance of her right now, anyway. She’s never seen him high or even take a hit off a joint, come to think of it.

Maybe if Glimmer had taken some ecstasy, she’d have looked a little friendlier. Katniss smiles to herself with wry amusement.

“You wanna dance?” Darius asks her, his lips dragging across her temple. She doesn’t even finish nodding before he guides her to the dance floor, right into the middle of the crush of bodies. She looks mournfully at the bar for her forgotten drink, but then Darius spins her into his arms and starts swaying her to the rhythmic beat, their bodies pressed tightly together. She goes with it, wrapping her arms around his neck when he kisses her again. He tastes tart, like an energy drink. Their bodies surge together like ripples in the water, following the beat. His tongue sweeps around her mouth, her head bent back at an awkward angle to meet his kiss, and she eventually has to break the suction of their lips for a greedy breath of air, feeling light-headed.

They continue to dance, his hands trailing over her body. He slides his palms over her shoulders, down her back, to her hips, then back around to cup her ass. But they won’t stay put, like he can’t get enough of touching her. His fingers trail over her collar bone, up her neck, before sliding into her hair, scraping against her scalp. She shudders, flushing with heat and awareness, her eyes scanning over the dancers around them. No one seems to pay them any attention, but she’s too sober for this level of public displays of affection, and when his other hand lights under her skirt to grip the back of her thigh, and probably higher, she disentangles herself from him.

“I never got my drink,” she yells so he can hear her, smiling apologetically. He blinks, brow drawing together, so she points over his shoulder. “I’ll be right back. Another beer?” Darius nods, and he keeps dancing as she steps around him to fight her way back to the bar.

She runs her hands through her hair to fluff it off her damp neck and finds a hole at the bar, falling in line behind a guy grabbing drinks from the bartender. She doesn’t realize it’s Peeta until he turns around a second later.

She freezes, and he nearly crashes into her, jerking to a stop. His eyes widen minutely, and he pulls the drinks in his hands back. A beer in his left, and something clear and garnished with a lime in his right. A drink for Glimmer, likely.

“Hey,” he says finally, his gaze furtively dropping down the length of her before redirecting back to her face. She pulls herself out of her stupor, pinching her shoulder blades together so she’s standing up tall.

“Hi,” she says, her tone an unforgiving monotone, stepping around him to reach the bar before someone else can cut in front of her.

Peeta turns around with her. “You have a stain.”

Frowning, Katniss faces him. He must see the confusion in her eyes because he gestures with his beer bottle to her waist. “Your skirt. You have a stain.”

Her lashes flutter as she glances down at the dried amber stain then back up at him, remembering the guy who spilled his drink on her when she first arrived. Her cheeks flush, and her lips pull into a familiar scowl, a natural reaction as a result of her bafflement at Peeta’s obvious observation. Really, her natural reaction to Peeta, period. “Yeah, I thought I’d accessorize my outfit with someone else’s beer,” she retorts, her voice snide and cutting.

Peeta’s mouth curls into a thin line, and he nods, more to himself than her. “Well, it clashes horribly,” he says drolly before turning away, heading back to the others. Back to his girlfriend.

She watches his retreating back, taking a deep breath before blowing it out, her lips down-turned as she spins back to the bar. The bartender spots her and leans over the bar. “What can I get you?”

“A cyanide pill, preferably,” she says, and at his confused look, she sighs. “A shot will do. Of anything, whatever liquor you grab first.”

* * *

Katniss almost goes back to Darius’ room that night after the club. Almost. She even stashed a couple condoms in her purse before leaving her room earlier. But when he invites her back to his room on the walk to the hotel, his hand on her waist, his face buried in the crook of her neck, she knows he’s still rolling. And having sex with him in that state makes her desire fizzle.

So she returns to her room, alone. The door closes behind her, and she stands at the threshold, looking at the two beds. The room feels as empty as it did earlier, after Peeta packed up his bag and left. She remembers the way he avoided her eyes, the door swinging shut in her face as she watched him hug Glimmer.

Suddenly she’s angry with herself, angry that she’s still thinking about him, mourning his absence. She should be grateful for this night to herself, this moment of peace. She _is_. It’s a relief not to have to go to sleep next to him, to hear his breaths only a few feet away. It’s a relief he’s not here taking up so much space.

Her movements are jerky as she strips out of her clothes, down to her underwear. How freeing, that she can stand in the middle of her hotel room in just her bra and panties and not worry about Peeta seeing her. Or worry about his horror at seeing her. Wiggling out of her bra, she slips on her night shirt and marches into the bathroom to ready herself for bed. Once she’s done and the lights are out, she slips into her bed, in between the sheets, and exhales heavily, ready for sleep to consume her.

But minutes tick by. She turns onto her side, then her back, then her other side, then her back once again. She tugs at the covers, and later, pushes them away. She’s all too aware of the oppressive silence of the room, and her eyes gradually drift open. Pin themselves to the ceiling. Light patterns from the slit in the curtains paint themselves across the room, and her gaze traces them over the ceiling, down the wall, across her bed spread, back over to Peeta’s bed.

Or what should be his bed.

She stares at the immaculate white plains of sheets, tucked in around the hills of pillows. Undisturbed.

Loneliness trickles in, a coldness seeping into her bones, and she pulls the covers tighter around her as if to keep out the truth. She’s alone. Really, truly alone. In some way, there’s no difference in how she feels now and how she felt back at home. The loneliness just rings more acutely now. No family, no friends. No Peeta to distract her from the stark isolation of the moment, like when she had Prim to occupy her from thoughts of her father’s absence.

Her father. Her heart trips over itself, briefly, her pulse rabbiting as she remembers suddenly: The anniversary of his death is near. She blinks wide in the dark, doing the mental calculations. December 24. That’s only nine days away. She almost forgot. She never forgets. She feels a hard pearl of guilt form in her stomach and lodge in her throat, and she turns her face into the pillow, squeezing her eyes shut as if she can force herself to forget about it and sleep

Instead, memories flicker across the back of her eyelids like a film strip. His smiling face. Soft gray eyes. Red and green pigtail ribbons. Twinkling Christmas lights. Steam curling off melting snow. Mangled metal and shattered glass. His blood. Her screams.

At least this time the tears don’t come.

* * *

Katniss drags her bag and her instruments onto the elevator, grimacing at her reflection in the mirrored back wall. The shadows under her eyes are stark, her face ashen. She hardly slept last night, and when she did, images she wishes she could forget permeated her dreams, waking her up in stops and starts, stealing her breath, making her feel cold. She’s glad to be heading back on the road, to the next town, to perform again, to fill her days and nights with something to distract her. 

When she steps into the lobby, she spots Haymitch and Peeta waiting near the doors. She suddenly wishes she had sunglasses on, to hide how poorly she slept. Peeta’s surely seen her look worse over the months, but she feels vulnerable now, and angry at feeling vulnerable. But she’s glad Glimmer is nowhere in sight—hopefully, she’s already left the hotel. Glimmer, with her flawless beauty. She probably looks well rested. And well fucked.

Katniss tries not to scowl as she stalks toward them. Peeta looks over at her, and she tells herself to look away, but he looks away first, denying her the satisfaction. His hands slip into his pants pockets as he rocks back on his heels.

With a huff, Katniss sets her guitar case down. “Sorry for the hold up,” she tells Haymitch, who shrugs.

“For once, you’re not the last one.” Haymitch levels his stare at Peeta. “Where’s your girl? We need to be on the road already.”

Alarm courses through Katniss, mingling with her confusion, as Peeta pulls his phone out of his pocket and glances at it. “She was drying her hair when I left the room. She said she was right behind me.” He clears his throat, slipping his phone away, pressing his mouth in apology. “I’ll go get her.”

His blue eyes light on Katniss for a brief second before he walks away toward the elevators, and she turns her wide eyes on Haymitch.

“I thought—we’re waiting for Glimmer?” she asks, her words clumsy.

Haymitch raises his eyebrows, but the line of his mouth is firm, displeased. “Yeah. She’ll be with us for a few days.”

Katniss stares at him. She was hopeful Glimmer had left, was naive enough to think she'd only be here for a day. A new thought hits her, filling her with dread. “Wait—she’s riding in the van with us?”

She can’t tell if his smirk is one of amusement or annoyance. “Well, she can’t ride outside the van.”

Katniss looks around the hotel wildly, her stomach sinking. She can’t possibly spend hours on end locked up in a van with Peeta and his girlfriend. Weathering Glimmer’s glares and Peeta’s avoidance. Worse, watching them touch and fawn over each other like a couple in love.

Through the front glass doors, Katniss’ eye catches on Thresh, who’s hovering by an ashtray as he drags on a cigarette. Somewhere beyond him, The Peacekeepers’ tour bus waits to be boarded. She jumps at the opportunity opening before her.

Snatching her guitar up, she makes a face at Haymitch. “Actually, I’m gonna take the bus with the guys.” At Haymitch’s narrowed gaze, she forces a shrug, already inching toward the doors. “Four’s a crowd, right? There’s barely enough room for three of us in that thing. See you at the next stop!”

She rushes off before Haymitch can respond, bursting through the doors with her stuff. Thresh nods at her at she passes, and she stops to locate the tour bus in the parking lot. She finds it, with Cato standing outside flirting with a couple girls who look vaguely familiar. She thinks she remembers them from the club last night. No doubt Cato woke up with them this morning, as well.

She ignores them as she lugs her stuff up the bus steps. The driver isn’t there, but she can hear Annie and Finnick talking, sees them sitting in the living room when she rounds the corner. They look surprised to see her.

“Hey—Darius here?” she asks, gulping down air as her lungs and blood pump from her brisk walk to the bus.

“He’s in the back lying down. Bottom right bunk,” Finnick tells her, his eyebrow quirked. She shuffles past them, through the living area and the small kitchen to the back where the beds and bathroom are. She finds the bottom right bunk, the only one with the curtain pulled shut, and she scales it back carefully, unsure if he’s asleep.

But he’s on his back, scrolling casually through his phone, and he squints up at her in the sudden light. His red eyebrows shoot up at the sight of her, and she smiles hopefully. “Hey. Got enough space for one more?”

Darius grins, reaching his hand out to her. “Of course.”

* * *

She doesn’t see Peeta again until soundcheck. Glimmer’s with him, a sight that jars Katniss. She’s not sure why. Of course, Glimmer would be here. But she seems so incongruous in this particular environment. Katniss tries to dislodge the slightly territorial feeling, has to force her eyes elsewhere just so the image of Peeta and Glimmer smiling at each other, toe to toe, her arms affectionately draped around his waist, their lips pressing together in a sweet kiss, doesn’t sour in her mouth.

Out on stage, however, it’s just Katniss and Peeta. She’s conscious of Glimmer likely watching from offstage, so she keeps her face blank, her eyes distant as she stands beside him, adjusting her earpiece, her mic, anything to keep her hands preoccupied. Peeta stands beside her, tuning his guitar. She can feel his sidelong glances.

She can sense he’s going to say something before he does.

“How was the tour bus?” he asks eventually, his tone even and forced. Her eyes dart to him against her will.

She rolls her tongue around in her mouth, searching for a response. She and Darius had mainly stayed in his bunk, just talking. She had dozed off at some point, the night’s lack of rest and the rocking of the bus sinking her into a much-needed sleep for the remainder of the drive. When she’d woken up, Darius was passed out too.

“Spacious,” she says vaguely. His mouth curls slightly, in a way that’s not quite a smile.

“They have a pretty nice setup,” he agrees, almost conversationally. “They’ve got everything in that living room.”

“I wouldn’t know. I didn’t spend any time in the living room,” she says, and she dares to look over at him. He goes still for the barest of seconds, his hands freezing on his mic stand, but otherwise he doesn’t react to her implication. His jaw flexes, ripples, like he’s grinding his teeth together, and he turns away to reposition his stool like he didn't hear her. Still, she feels mildly victorious.

After a few more minutes of awaiting direction, the awkward silence a wall between them, they finally run through the soundcheck. Despite the fact that they’ve done this dozens of times by now, they’re both stiff, their vocals and performances lackluster for even a soundcheck. It’s only a couple songs, to test the sound system and acoustics as well as the lights, but when Haymitch comes out after the last song, Katniss can tell he’s not pleased. She steels herself as he stalks across the venue floor toward them.

“That was absolute shit,” he grunts, and Katniss sighs, snapping her mic back onto the stand. Admittedly, he’s right, and she knows the last show wasn’t any better. But she blames Peeta for that, fully.

“It’s just a soundcheck,” Peeta says, giving his guitar to the stagehand who comes to take it.

“Well, you two have a lot of warming up to do in the next few hours,” Haymitch growls. Katniss’ mouth presses into a reflexive scowl.

“Tell Peeta that,” she mutters. She doesn’t care if Haymitch can hear her or not, only satisfied that Peeta does. And his dark look as she brushes by him lets her know her remark hit the intended target.

“Really, this is my fault?” he asks, and she spins back around to shoot him an incredulous stare.

“Uh, _yeah_ , you’re the one acting weird out there,” she replies, jabbing a finger at the front of the stage. “I’ve been performing like I always do and carrying this show the past few days.”

She turns back around, the sound of his snort following her as he trails her off the stage. “And I suppose you think I should be thanking you for that,” he says dryly. Katniss whirls back on him, her eyes narrowed.

“Yeah, actually, especially after the way you used to accuse _me_ of not pulling my weight in this band! Now who’s having to pick up the other’s slack?”

Color stains his cheeks, and he jerks a hand through his hair. “I seem to recall you freezing up before every show in the beginning. I helped you, didn't I? I wasn't a sanctimonious asshole about it!”

She folds her arms over her chest, anger making her voice unsteady. “I can’t help you out there if you won’t even _look_ at me, Peeta!”

He opens his mouth to respond but suddenly clamps his lips shut, his eyes focusing over her shoulder. When she turns her head, she realizes everyone backstage is watching them, including Glimmer. Most of them just look amused, used to the animosity between The Victors. Glimmer does not.

Embarrassed, Katniss storms off before Peeta can, or before he can go to his girlfriend to comfort her.

* * *

Draining the last of her beer, Katniss licks the beads of liquid off her lips and drops the bottle in the trash can. The little bin for recycling provided by the hotel is overflowing already, as the after party in Finnick and Darius’ suite has been in swing for a couple hours now.

A stout stagehand with brown hair cracks a joke as she passes by him on her way to the kitchen, something about uppity environmentalists, and she fakes a weak laugh, even though she missed the punchline. She needs more alcohol to erase this shitty night from her mind.

In the suite kitchen, she rummages through the cooler until she finds an IPA, then she stands up to twist the cap off and take a deep pull of the refreshingly bitter beer.

“That was a good show.”

Katniss manages to swallow the mouthful of beer before she pulls an embarrassing spit take, the sound of Glimmer’s voice behind her that unexpected. When she turns around to face her, she feels like she’s turning in slow motion. Not sure if she should brace herself for a wad of venomous spit in her face.

But to her shock, Glimmer isn’t glaring at her. She’s not smiling, but it doesn’t look like she’s plotting Katniss’ death, either. The beer bottle hovers awkwardly somewhere around Katniss’ mouth as she struggles to comprehend the unfolding situation before she forces the bottle down to her side.

“Oh. Thanks.” Despite the plain line of Glimmer’s mouth, Katniss attempts a polite smile. She fights the natural urge to contradict the woman. Because it wasn’t a good show, at all. After soundcheck, and after their argument, she and Peeta did not manage to warm up to each other as per Haymitch’s demand. Peeta attempted to make eye contact with her while they performed, at least, but if it went on too long, it was like he’d suddenly realize what he was doing and force his gaze to the crowd. It wasn’t as bad as the last show, but it was still lacking a lot of the verve of earlier performances.

But she doesn’t suppose Glimmer would know that, as this is the first show she’s seen. Which is probably a good thing because she likely wouldn’t be here, right now, congratulating Katniss on a good show, if she’d witness a truly _good_ performance between her boyfriend and Katniss.

“You have a really good voice,” Glimmer adds, and now Katniss is truly stunned. And suspicious. They haven’t talked once since she arrived on their tour, and now she’s given her two compliments in a row.

“Um. Thank you,” she repeats dumbly, her eyes surreptitiously scanning the room for Peeta as she takes another sip of her beer. She finds him across the room, but he’s too busy talking to Annie and Finnick to take notice of his girlfriend’s ambush of his bandmate.

“I get the appeal,” Glimmer continues, stooping down to grab a beer from the cooler. “Why fans like you two together.” Katniss racks her brain to come up with a proper response, one that isn’t snarky or defensive, but Glimmer keeps talking when she stands back up, “I see what they see when they watch you guys on stage.”

Katniss purses her lips together, willing her heart not to clamor into her throat. She swallows. What exactly is Glimmer trying to say? The other woman’s face is unreadable.

Finally, Katniss shrugs. “It’s part of our job.”

“You can’t really fake that,” Glimmer says. Katniss’ grip tightens around her beer, and she narrows her eyes, trying not to scowl. But she forces a sardonic smile.

“We can’t stand each other, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Peeta gets along with everybody,” Glimmer says, and for the first time her words feel like an accusation. “Everybody. Except you, apparently.”

Katniss’ shrug is half-hearted. Her voice is flat. “Well, I’m a bitch, I guess.”

Glimmer’s lips pucker slightly, and she stares at Katniss, who tries not to squirm under the scrutiny. “Maybe. I don’t really know you. But I know Peeta.” She takes a deep breath. “I’ve been there for him through a lot of shit, things you have no clue about. You might be his bandmate, but you don’t know him. And you don’t care about him the way I do.” Her green eyes flare like flash-bang grenades, and for the first time Katniss can see the way her hands tremble on her beer. “So stay away from him.”

Katniss’ throat is tight, dry like gravel, but she doesn’t take a sip of her beer. She doesn’t respond, just drops her eyes and steps around Glimmer to exit the kitchen. Once she’s past her, she gasps for a breath, fills her lungs and takes a desperate swig of her beer. Her heart is throbbing in her chest.

She drags herself through the room, around the throngs of people, until she finds Darius in the spot where she left him earlier in her search for more beer. He’s talking to some girl and another guy, casually draped over a loveseat. A joint dangles from his fingers as he passes it to them, and Katniss flops down next to him, between his lap and the arm of the couch. Her legs cross over his left thigh, and his hand settles on her hip, pulling her closer.

After the others take a hit, Darius offers it to her. She shakes her head. “You okay?” he asks, and she nods listlessly, sipping her beer. She doesn’t really listen to their conversation, trying not to think about Glimmer’s words but failing.

Katniss finishes her beer, and after she swallows the last dregs, she sets her bottle down. Then, rudely interrupting the conversation, she turns Darius’ face to hers and kisses him.

If he’s surprised, he plays it off, his hand sliding around her neck to pull her closer, her head tipping back as he opens her mouth more widely. The couch shifts as the other two get up, leaving her and Darius alone to make out. Tongues and teeth and wandering hands.

Eventually, when her lips begin to feel bruised, she pulls away from him. His heavy pants are as harsh as hers, and he watches her with lidded eyes, his desire thick in his pupils. She studies him critically.

“Are you on anything besides weed?”

He blinks, before his face breaks into a slow grin, and he laughs. “No. Are you worried about taking advantage of me? Is that what the issue was? You know I’ve been trying to sleep with you since the tour started.”

She laughs faintly, willing her blush away, and she looks around the room, wetting her already moist lips. “We can go back to my room...if you want. I’ve got it to myself.” At her declaration, her mind immediately jumps to Peeta, and she feels her throat tighten. She struggles to remind herself of Glimmer and their conversation in the kitchen instead and lets Darius easily pull her to her feet when he stands up.

Her hand clasped in his, he leads her through the suite. She swears she can feel everyone’s eyes on them as they walk past, the understanding and amusement passing through the room as quickly as a pinball, and she swallows down the self-consciousness. Of course it must be obvious to the others what they’re about to do. Why does she care if they know? Everyone else is getting laid on this tour.

But she can’t ignore Peeta’s look when she and Darius pass through his line of sight. Glimmer stands in front of him, her back to them, but Peeta catches sight of them over her shoulder. His eyes focus on their joined hands, and his lips part for a split second before his jaw tenses. This time, Katniss looks away first, tipping her chin up. From the corner of her eye she sees Peeta wrap his arm around Glimmer’s shoulders, pulling her closer.

Then, blissfully, she’s out of the room, away from that spectacle, leading Darius to her bed.

Once they’re cocooned in her room a few floors down, Katniss pulls him into a kiss, willing her anxiety away. Darius wraps his arms around her waist as his tongue strokes hers. His eagerness is hard against her belly, and heat flushes through her, making her kiss more frenzied.

But when he guides her to her bed, her stomach twists unexpectedly, and she pushes away from him to catch her breath. “Wait—I need to—bathroom. I’ll be quick,” she rushes out, chest heaving slightly.

He just nods and runs a hand through his mussed hair, flopping down on the bed. “Sure. No problem,” he says, unbothered. With a jerky smile, Katniss glances quickly at the bulge in his pants then disappears into the bathroom. Her reflection gives her pause: puffy lips, pink cheeks, disheveled black hair. She releases a hard breath, closing her eyes as she wills herself to relax. She just needs a moment to collect herself, to talk herself into feeling like the sex goddess she wants to be right now. Her vibrator has been a godsend, but she’s hungry for the intimacy and pleasure only skin-to-skin contact can give her.

The alcohol from earlier is weighing heavily on her bladder, so she uses the bathroom while she’s in here, grateful for the impromptu pee break. At the sink, she washes her hands carefully then runs her tongue along her teeth, wrinkling her nose at the foul lingering taste of beer.

So she takes a moment to brush her teeth, scrubbing a generous amount of minty toothpaste onto them. When she hears a knock on the bathroom door, her hand and toothbrush freeze. “Katniss,” Darius calls to her, and she stares at her reflection, eyes round. “Are you...brushing your teeth?”

Spitting out the toothpaste, she shuffles to the door and peeks around it as she opens it. Darius is shirtless now, standing in only his jeans, and she gives him a sheepish smile, eyes distractedly sweeping over his frame. “Sorry, I got a little self-conscious about my breath.”

He laughs and reaches a hand up to wipe some toothpaste off the corner of her mouth, making her feel even more embarrassed. “I mean, it wasn’t necessary, but I appreciate the due diligence.”

She moves back to the sink to hurriedly finish, cursing herself for being a spaz. It’s just sex. She’s not usually a one-night stand or random hookup kind of person, but it’s not like she and Darius are strangers. How hard can this be?

He comes up behind her as she’s rinsing out her mouth and brushes the hair off the back of her neck. When he places a kiss there, she closes her eyes.

“I hope this doesn’t mean you’re going to hold my beer breath against me,” he murmurs against her neck, and she hums lightly, neglecting to turn off the running water.

“Nope” is all she can manage, her breathing spiking again as his lips and tongue light her nerve endings on fire. She’s panting quietly by the time his hands cup her breasts through her shirt and bra. His fingers nudge the cup down so he can stroke her pebbled nipple through the soft cotton. His other hand slides down her stomach beneath the waistband of her pants, his thumb working the button open to give him more allowance. When his fingers slip underneath her panties to find her wet folds, her back arches, her ass grinding against him.

“Damn,” he sighs against her neck.

A strange sense of deja vu washes over her as he begins stroking her, the pleasurable sensation clashing with the foreboding settling in her stomach. Her eyes drift open to squint at the mirror, and through her haze of lust and confusion she realizes the problem immediately.

Darius is fingering her the way Peeta had in her dream—her fantasies—fuck, she can’t be thinking about him right now. She slams her eyes shut, gritting her teeth together, pushing the image away—Peeta behind her, his hand on her breast, his hand between her legs, stroking her to orgasm.

Katniss trembles as Darius’ middle finger hits a particularly sensitive spot, but the sensation is dulled by her intrusive thoughts. Agitated, she twists in his arms, forcing his hand out of her pants, and she grabs his face to kiss him.

“Let’s move to the bed,” she suggests against his mouth, and he happily obliges. She wastes no time stripping out of her clothes, oddly feeling no bashfulness in her nakedness now. He stops her before she can remove her panties, having her lie down as he shucks his pants.

When he crawls on top of her, he kisses her neck, her breasts, her stomach, then he peels her panties off himself. His hand delves back between her thighs, fingers stretching and rubbing, his lips wrapping around the tip of her breasts. She squeezes her eyes shut, rocking her hips, chasing the elusive feeling until he eventually pushes her over. She gasps against his shoulder as the orgasm shudders through her, pleasantly mild in comparison to her own vibrator-assisted climaxes, but it’s enough to make her heart pound in her ears, to make her loose and languid, and when he asks if she has a condom, she tells him where he can find one.

He grabs the unused box of Trojans from her bag and selects one of the loose condoms she'd put back in there the other day. Before he gets back into bed, he takes off his boxer-briefs. His cock is nice and pink, and she feels a pinch of nervousness as she watches him roll the condom down his shaft. Then he’s on top of her, easing his tongue between her open lips as he eases his cock between her open thighs, and he slides inside her with a few measured strokes.

Darius moves inside her, his hand cupping her breasts, thumbing her nipples as he holds himself above her. She’s wet, but it’s been some time—a year?—since she last had sex, and it takes her a couple minutes to relax into the rhythm. But soon she’s responding, writhing, her own hands gliding over his slick skin, down his back to palm his ass. Her breasts rub against his chest as she arches into his thrusts.

“Shit,” he grunts into her ear, pumping inside her. He tries to roll over, to get her on top, but she freezes up, feeling inexplicably shy.

“This is good,” she murmurs encouragingly, tightening her thighs around his waist, closing her eyes, biting her lip. She wonders if she can come again, maybe if she angles her hips a little more, grinds up against him...

But Darius speeds up, rising up onto his knees and hands to thrust into her harder. “Fuck, I’m gonna come,” he groans, and she squeezes her hands around his biceps, clenches her thighs around his waist. With a few more pumps, he goes still on top of her, his hand braced above her head to hold up his weight as he empties into the condom.

After he’s done, they’re both still breathing hard. Katniss lies there under him, waiting, feeling shifty as her skin starts to itch with dried perspiration. When Darius shakes off his orgasm, he looks down at her. And they both laugh awkwardly, Katniss covering her eyes with her hand, shaking her head.

“No?” he asks hoarsely, though there’s amusement in his voice.

She shakes her head again, pulling her hand back. “No, it was good, sorry. I’ve just never been good with what happens after,” she admits, and she laughs again. Shit. Orgasms make her delirious.

“Who is?” He pulls out of her and sits back so he can pull the used condom off his dick. “Let me get rid of this,” he says, and she pulls the sheet half-heartedly over her body while he disposes of the condom in the bathroom.

After he cleans up, she uses the bathroom too. When she reemerges, Darius has his boxer-briefs back on and is buttoning his pants back up. She’s not sure if she’s relieved or disappointed.

“I was going to head back to the party,” he says. “Did you want to come back?”

“No, I think I’m just going to pass out,” she replies, keeping the sheet tight around her naked body. Relieved, she decides. The sex was good, but she wasn’t particularly looking forward to him sleeping over. She likes the bed to herself, even if she hates being in the room alone. So she’s grateful he’s not making this awkward.

Once he’s dressed, Darius sidles up to her with a smile. “I had fun.”

She snorts, for lack of a better response, and he chuckles. “I could tell. Um, thanks. For the sex.”

He shrugs. “Thanks for finally having mercy on me.” Darius heads for the door. “See you tomorrow?”

She nods, and once the door closes, she sighs, sinking down onto her bed, suddenly very exhausted.

She has no problem falling asleep tonight.

* * *

Unfortunately, she doesn’t stay asleep. She’s woken up around 4 a.m. by another nightmare about her father. The memory of the snow under her hands seeps into her limbs, making her cold all over. She shivers, trying to regulate her wild, harsh breathing, and pulls the covers up to her neck. Eventually she wills herself back to sleep, but it’s a fitful, shallow sleep, and by the time her alarm goes off in the morning, she’s not entirely sure she ever really managed to fall back to sleep.

It's been a few years since she's had nightmares this bad. After her father's death, they were pretty awful and constant, but they eventually faded over time. She's not sure why they've started up again so suddenly.

The next morning Katniss packs up her stuff for the drive to the next city in a daze. Sadly, the blissful side effects of her orgasm have long faded by now, doing nothing to alleviate her foul mood.

Shouldering her bags, she carries them down to the lobby and out into the parking lot. She’s heading toward The Peacekeepers’ tour bus when she spots Haymitch by the van. She nods to him as she passes, stifling a yawn, but he calls after her.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Confused, she turns back to him. “The bus,” she says, gesturing toward it.

He scoffs. “I don’t think so. You’re in the van with us today.”

She gapes at him blearily. “But—why? It was fine yesterday when I wasn't there!”

“I can let one day slide. But we can’t keep showing up at hotels without you. If fans were to notice you coming off the guys’ bus?” Haymitch shakes his head.

She doesn’t know what to say, but she feels a sort of obstinance surging inside her, rising into her throat. She thinks back to her conversation with Glimmer the night before. The other woman’s warning. How the hell is she supposed to ride in a van with those two lovebirds? “Haymitch—I can’t—”

“No excuses, sweetheart. You don’t get a choice. You’re up front with me.” He actually sounds apologetic, but her frustration rears up, frustration at being controlled and having her life dictated this way. She knows that’s how it has to be, but still, the feeling of being trapped infuriates her.

Scowling, she stomps toward the van and angrily throws her bags and guitar case into the open back. When she swings the passenger door open, she momentarily freezes as she catches sight of Peeta and Glimmer in the back seat. Her gaze flits across the latter’s face first, registering the contemptuous yet bizarrely triumphant expression, before it jumps to Peeta.

And she knows he knows. Like she just reeks of sex or something. There’s a flatness to his eyes, and his lips thin as if he’s swallowing back his distaste. Briefly, Katniss worries Darius said something about her after he went back to the party. But she doesn’t peg him as the type to brag.

She almost wishes he were.

Forcing herself to move, Katniss swings herself into the passenger seat and slams the door shut behind her before they can see the terror and doubt in her eyes. With more bravado and indifference than she actually feels, she tosses her hair over her shoulder and remains silent. She didn’t shower this morning before leaving the hotel room, barely even checked her reflection, and now she wonders whether she has the look of someone who just got laid. Her stomach rolls unpleasantly.

Haymitch gets into the driver’s seat, and Katniss releases a hard breath, grateful the door shutting masks the sound to the others.

No one talks in the time it takes Haymitch to get situated. He glances at her and in the rear view mirror and makes a huffy sound of amusement. “Gonna be a long drive,” he mutters to himself, cranking the engine, and Katniss lets her forehead drop against the passenger window in defeat.

Haymitch’s premonition turns out to be right, of course. It’s a tortuously long trip to the next city, a four-hour drive passing at a crawl. Nobody speaks, really, only Peeta and Glimmer to each other. Haymitch keeps the radio low as he always does when he’s driving, and Katniss can hear them murmuring to each other behind her. Laughing occasionally. She has no clue what they’re saying, but the muted tones give it the intimacy of two lovers talking, making the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

Katniss seeks solace in her music, jamming her earbuds in and turning up the sound on her phone so she can’t hear anything else. She tries to curl up in her seat and take a nap, but she just ends up staring out the passenger window, her eyes drifting to the side view mirror. Sometimes she catches Peeta’s reflection as he shifts in the back seat or stares out the window too.

The beginnings of a tentative song gestate and take root, the music bleeding from her earbuds fading as she starts to shape the words and melody gnawing at the back of her mind.

_If you don’t love me now_  
_Why would you ever love me?_  
_If you don’t love me now_  
_If you don’t want me ‘round_  
_Why would you ever want me?_ _  
If you don’t want me ‘round_

She snatches her notebook out of her messenger bag and writes down the lyrics percolating in her head. By the time they get to the hotel she’s got two pages filled with lyrics and notes and scribbles, practically a full song. She’s proud of herself for writing her first song solo since she and Peeta started working together. It's validating.

They have to unload in front of the hotel. From her window Katniss sees some people lingering out front. Likely, they’re fans of The Peacekeepers—normally a couple dozen of them or so stake out the hotels to get pictures with the guys.

They grab their gear from the back of the van, Katniss quickly loading her arms before the others so she can beat them inside, but Haymitch holds her back. When she looks at him questioningly, he shakes his head and then looks over at Glimmer.

“You first.”

She looks at him, confused, suitcase in hand. “What do you mean?”

“Go into the hotel first. I don’t want those fans out front to see you and start asking questions,” he explains, reaching into the van to grab his bags.

Glimmer’s face turns red, and she turns to Peeta, beseechingly. He looks apologetic and squeezes her arm. “I’ll meet you at the front desk.”

His girlfriend pinches her lips together but otherwise doesn’t respond, flicking her hair over her shoulder and marching proudly to the front entrance, past the fans who take no notice of her, and through the sliding doors.

Katniss picks at her fingernails while she waits for Haymitch and Peeta to finish unloading the van, then she takes off for the hotel as well, eager to get inside and into the gym to work out before soundcheck.

Before she can walk through the doors, however, she’s startled by someone calling her name. She looks around until she spots a teenage girl waving at her, a promotional photo of Katniss and Peeta clenched tightly in her hand. Katniss smiles at her and moves closer.

“Hi, did you want me to sign something?” she offers, trying to shift the luggage in her arms to reach out a hand. The blonde-haired girl grins and nods enthusiastically, thrusting the poster and a marker at her. She reminds Katniss of Prim a little, with her unassuming blue eyes. “What’s your name?”

“Alissa,” she says breathlessly. “Thank you so much!” Her eyes widen over Katniss’ shoulder, and Katniss knows that means Peeta’s just walked up too. After she scribbles out a personal message and a signature, Katniss turns to hand the poster to Peeta. He stops, caught off guard, but quickly regroups and smiles at the girl, greeting her.

Katniss starts to turn back to the doors, but the girl makes a protesting noise in the back of her throat, a suppressed, high-pitched squeak that makes Katniss look back at her. Her expression is hesitant, her eyes darting between Katniss and Peeta.

“Um...can I possibly get a picture of you two together?” she asks nervously, waving her phone at them.

Katniss and Peeta both blink. “Together?” Katniss asks stupidly, her mind slow to grasp the request. Normally, if fans ask for a picture, it's with the fans.

Alissa gestures with her hands, indicating for them to get close. “You know. Together, posing for a picture.” She looks sheepish, her cheeks pink, and she chews on her lip.

Katniss and Peeta glance at each other, and she hopes the horror isn’t obvious on her face. Peeta coughs to clear his throat and quickly slides into his role, slipping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his side. She tries not to stiffen, forcing a small smile for the camera, but her eyes dart toward the hotel doors, where she spies Glimmer through the tempered glass, watching them, her arms crossed.

Peeta must see her too because he suddenly retracts his arm before the girl can take the picture, as if Katniss’ skin is on fire. “Why don’t you get in the picture with us,” he hurriedly suggests. The girl’s eyes widen even more, and she giggles as Peeta pulls her into the frame, right in between him and Katniss. They both put their arms around her, hands awkwardly bumping together until they manage to rest them somewhere without touching. Peeta stoops down a little, and he grabs the fan’s camera, holding it out to take the picture.

Then it’s done, and Katniss pulls away, smiling at the girl as she gushes her thanks. She and Peeta sign a few more autographs before they can get inside, where Haymitch and Glimmer are waiting. The other woman looks like she’s made of stone. Katniss can feel the simmering anger behind her facade, however, and she almost feels sorry for Peeta. Almost.

Happy to avoid Glimmer’s wrath, Katniss quickly swipes her keycard from their manager before scurrying off to the elevator.

* * *

Things continue to regress during their next show. In fact, Peeta actually seems angry while they’re performing. Katniss’ nerves are already so fraught from her nightmares and lack of sleep, not to mention the situation with Glimmer, that his misplaced fury only serves to piss her off, too. So much so that she ends up hitting him with her elbow when she yanks her microphone from its stand at one point, “accidentally.” It’s petty but still gives her a sense of satisfaction, especially when he bites his tongue to swallow a litany of curses aimed at her.

Of course, when she sees Haymitch’s livid face after yet another abysmal performance, Katniss is immediately chastened.

“We just need a break,” she says in her defense, unconcerned with how whiny she sounds. She’s eager for the holidays, for Christmas. It’ll mean the dreaded anniversary of her father’s dead, but it'll at least give her some much needed breathing room from Peeta and this tour.

Haymitch just shakes his head. “There is no break from this, sweetheart. You two need to hurry up and realize that.”

She doesn’t really understand the forewarning in his comment until the next day, when a visibly agitated Haymitch accosts her on her hotel floor on her way back from the gym.

“Why the hell aren’t you two answering your phones?” he barks, and she scowls at him, planting her hand on her hip.

“I was exercising. I left my phone in the room,” she says. She’d wanted to run without music today, to detach from her phone for a little while. “And I don’t keep tabs on Peeta. That’s your job.”

Haymitch tunnels a hand through his messy hair, exhaling roughly. “Well, I can’t get a hold of him either. I was going to go to his room next if I couldn’t find you. I don’t have time now. Plutarch’s here.”

Katniss just stares at him, not comprehending. “Okay. Why?”

He glowers at her dimwittedness. “He wants a meeting with the three of us, _now_. You think it’s ever a good thing when the record exec flies out to the tour suddenly?” He shakes his head. “I warned y’all to get your shit together.”

Now she understands. They’re in trouble. The blood pumping through her veins quickly drains from her face at the realization. Oh, god. Are they about to be fired? Can Plutarch kick them off the tour, pull the plug on their album? She swallows down her panic. “Okay. Let me change real quick—”

Haymitch cuts her a hard look. “No time now. Plutarch’s in my room right now. I gotta go deal with him. Go round up the boy, will you?”

Swallowing tightly, Katniss nods. After he tells her which floor to go to, she hops on the elevator and curls up in the corner, willing the car to move faster. When she reaches Peeta’s floor, she nearly pries the doors apart in her haste and quickly strides down the hall, but as she nears his room, she slows.

Someone’s yelling, angry muffled voices resounding down the hallway. Dread curdles in her stomach, and she prays silently it’s not coming from his room.

It is.

She pauses outside, holding her breath as she listens. Yes, that’s definitely Peeta’s voice. Glimmer’s voice rises over his.

They’re having a fight.

Perfect timing. With a stifled groan, Katniss wavers, taking a step in the direction of the elevator, but she rethinks it and steps back toward the door. What is she supposed to do? She can’t knock and interrupt their argument. How awkward. She can already imagine what her showing up to his room will look like to Glimmer.

She tries not to eavesdrop, but the longer she stands there debating herself, the more of their argument she picks up through the door.

_“—your girlfriend, Peeta!”_

_“What do you want me to do, Glim? What else can I say at this point? This is my livelihood!”_

“ _I want you to be honest with me!”_

_“I have! I’ve told you! Just because you don’t believe me doesn’t mean it’s not true—”_

_“Stop treating me like I'm a fucking idiot!”_

_“Jesus fucking Christ, I can’t keep doing this! It’s the same argument every fucking day!”_

Katniss winces and makes herself knock quickly before she can hear anymore. Their voices abruptly fall silent, and she braces herself before the door swings open.

Peeta’s on the other side, bare-chested in only his jeans, his hair disheveled, his face flushed, red marks on his neck and chest. Some distant voice in her head wonders if those are hickeys or scratches. His eyes are thunderous, his mouth pulled in a frown, until he realizes it’s her. Then he blanches, blinking his wide eyes at her in surprise and confusion. “Kat—” But he bites the rest of her name off, nostrils flaring, and she knows, somehow intrinsically knows, this argument was about her, again. Her eyes dart over Peeta’s shoulder when Glimmer comes into view behind him.

Her hair is just as messy, her cheeks as red as her red-rimmed eyes, which flash dangerously at Katniss as she folds her arms over her breasts. Katniss registers she’s only wearing a t-shirt, one that drapes on her slender frame and hits mid-thigh, a shirt Katniss recognizes as one of Peeta’s.

She feels sick to her stomach, realizing at some point prior to this spat they must have been having sex. She swallows the bile sticking in her throat and rushes ahead with her message. “Haymitch has been trying to get a hold of you. Us. Plutarch’s here.” She hesitates, not sure how to press upon him the urgency with Glimmer right there, but he seems to understand quicker than she had, color flooding his cheeks again.

“Shit. Hold on.” He shuts the door, and she lingers, not sure what to do, if she should wait or go ahead without him. She hears them talking on the other side, much quieter this time so she can’t hear what’s being said, thankfully, though she doesn't mistake the barely restrained hysteria in Glimmer's voice. Katniss edges toward the elevator, feeling like an idiot for just standing there, but as she turns on her heel, the door swings open again to reveal Peeta, a fresh t-shirt pulled on, his hair smoothed down, unlaced shoes on his feet. He just nods at Katniss, quietly shutting the door behind him, and they get on the elevator together. They don’t speak as Peeta crouches to hurriedly tie up his laces, and she wraps her arms around her waist, grimacing as her gym clothes stick to her, damp with sweat, wishing Haymitch had let her change into something that didn’t reek of BO.

“You didn’t hear any of that, did you?” he asks solemnly, surprising her, not meeting her eyes. She can’t get her mouth to work until they get off on the floor.

“No,” she lies. She’s sure he knows that’s not true, though.

He changes topics. “How much trouble are we in?”

“Probably a lot,” she says gravely.

Peeta stops her suddenly, surprising her. “Look _—_ I don't think he's supposed to know about Glimmer being here,” he says haltingly. She can’t tell if he’s threatening her or pleading with her. She frowns.

“Believe me, I have no interest in talking about your girlfriend,” she mutters, resuming their trek to Haymitch’s room. Her bravado vanishes when they reach the door, and she knocks hesitantly, holding her breath when the door opens. It’s Haymitch, and he narrows his eyes at them in warning before waving them in.

Katniss tiptoes inside like she’s approaching prey. Rather, she feels like the prey, being lured into a trap. When she sees Plutarch, she comes to a dead stop in the middle of the room.

He’s smiling at her, a mug in his hand, seated leisurely in an armchair. “Katniss, Peeta, I’m glad you two could stop by,” he greets warmly before taking a sip of his drink. Coffee, judging by the aroma filling the room.

“Ah—hi,” she says stupidly. She’s not sure what she expected, but his pleasantness has her on edge. Peeta moves around her to shake the other man’s hand, so she flops down on the foot of Haymitch’s messy, unmade bed.

“Good to see you again, sir,” Peeta says. Plutarch laughs.

“I think we can dispense with the formalities. You two are going to make me a lot of money, after all,” he says with a wink. “I think we’re past the point of politeness.”

Katniss looks to Haymitch, who is leaning against the wall now, his face still grim. She can’t comprehend this situation at all.

“Has Haymitch told you the good news?” Plutarch asks, and Katniss and Peeta glance at each other then Haymitch. “He’s booked you a performance and interview on The Nightly Show with Caesar Flickerman. Well, I don’t think he had to do much. The producers were pretty eager to have you on the show.”

Katniss’ mouth parts in astonishment. The Nightly Show with Caesar Flickerman is a pretty big deal. Cable television. Lots of viewers. It’s a huge platform for an unknown band like them.

“Wow,” Peeta breathes, sitting down on the bed beside Katniss. “That’s...amazing.”

“Isn’t it?” Plutarch takes another sip of his coffee. “Of course, what’s _not_ amazing is how abysmally you two have been performing lately. That’s not what we want to introduce to the general public on his show, now is it?”

There it is. Katniss was waiting for the other shoe to drop, and she manages to rein in her visible flinch. Peeta’s hands curl into fists on his thighs. Plutarch keeps talking, and though his words are harsh, his voice never loses its cheerfulness.

“Haymitch tried to assure me it was just a temporary setback, but I watched last night’s show myself. Dreadful. That’s not who or what we signed.”

“They’re exhausted,” Haymitch interjects. His defense of them surprises her. “Touring is hard, you know that, Plutarch, especially for first-timers. They just need to recharge over the holidays.”

Plutarch lists his head. “Mm. Yes. About that. I know you were expecting a week off between Christmas and New Year’s, but we really need you in the studio to finish the album before the end of the year. We need to wrap this up and get the new material out as quickly as possible, while the novelty and interest are still there.”

Katniss’ jaw goes slack, and she speaks before she can think better of it. “Are you serious? We’re not getting Christmas off?”

“I’m afraid things have changed.”

Peeta releases a quiet hiss through his teeth, running a hand through his hair, but he doesn’t say anything. Katniss grows incensed, despite her better judgment. “I have plans with my family during that time—” Plans to spend her break with Prim, plans to fly out to see Madge and Gale in Seattle for a day or two. Plans to get the hell away from Peeta for a while.

“You saw them at Thanksgiving, yes?” Plutarch sounds nonplussed, and Katniss grinds her teeth together.

“For less than 24 hours!” She fists her hands in the comforter. “We’ve been going nonstop for nearly five months. And we’ve barely got any money to show for it as it is—!”

Plutarch’s face hardens, and Haymitch sighs behind his hand, rubbing his eyes. “Ms. Everdeen, are you accusing me of unfair labor practices?” _Yes_ , she wants to snap, but she rolls her lips together, miraculously cutting off her retort. “You agreed to this, am I incorrect? You knew what you were signing up for. You signed a contract. Failing to produce an album on the schedule we agreed upon is not holding up your end of the bargain. Do I need to FedEx you a copy of the contract, in case you’ve forgotten the terms?”

That’s not fair, she wants to argue. She had little choice but to sign what he put in front of her, and he knows it. She has little understanding of what she ultimately agreed to it.

She sits in stony silence, folding her arms over her chest, which Plutarch takes as acquiescence. His countenance brightens, and he slurps noisily from his coffee before continuing. “I apologize for any inconvenience this causes you two. I know being separated from family can be tough. Let’s just wrap up this album, and we can be done with it. I trust you two will give us a phenomenal product. And the money will really start rolling in then, I guarantee it.” He smiles at them, daring them to object further.

_Product_ , Katniss thinks sourly, and she catches Peeta’s eye. He looks equally disgusted. She’s annoyed he won’t say anything, but then again, she probably should have kept her mouth shut too.

“That brings me to our next matter of discussion,” Plutarch says. “I’m not in the habit of regulating our clients’ personal lives, but it seems like the personal has started to affect the professional.”

Dread sinks her stomach at his words, and she’s unable to stop herself from glancing at Peeta again. The line of his jaw is tight, like he’s bracing himself.

“You two are free to see whomever you want, but I’m going to ask you to be more... _discreet_ about it. That means no letting fans see you coming off fellow musicians’ tour buses or canoodling with anyone of the opposite sex in public. Certainly not _making out_ with them. Believe it or not, fans do notice these...indiscretions, and it reflects poorly on you two. If you've looked at your Facebook page recently, you might have noticed that.”

Katniss’ face burns, her rage and shame simmering beneath her skin, once again left wondering just what the hell people are saying about them online.

Peeta clears his throat before he finally speaks up, barely contained anger in his own voice. “Sorry, I think I’m a little confused about what our goal is, exactly. You tell us you want people to think we—Katniss and I are...together, but when we’re asked directly, we’re supposed to deny it. So...”

“Well, yes. Like I said. Romantic entanglements always make for messy business relationships. Fans aren’t supposed to know definitively that you’re _not_ actually together, but that’s harder to pull off if they keep seeing proof that you’re not. You understand.”

“Not really,” Peeta says, a little more tersely. “I have an actual girlfriend, and the manufactured speculation isn’t exactly helping matters.”

Plutarch finishes off his coffee and sets his mug down on the table nearest him. “Like I said, I’m not in the habit of telling clients how to handle their personal lives. But you seem like a smart guy, and, well, bringing your girlfriend on tour isn't exactly smart, is it?" Peeta looks stunned. Haymitch grimaces as Plutarch stands up, effectively ending the discussion. "I’m sure you’ll make the right choice.”

He smiles pleasantly at them. “I’m afraid I need to head back to New York now, but Haymitch will fill you in on the details for the interview as well as the album.” He gives them a pointed look, despite his unfaltering smile. His words are ominous. “And I trust tonight’s show will go much better.”

On his way out he and Haymitch exchange a few parting words while Katniss and Peeta stew in silence on the bed. It’s taking everything in her not to kick at something—Haymitch’s duffel bag near her feet would be a prime target.

The door shuts behind Plutarch, and Haymitch stalks back into the room with a heavy sigh, a sneer screwed onto his lips as he glares at them. “You two couldn’t just keep your mouths shut, could you?”

Katniss shoots up off the bed, barely managing not to kick _him_. “He took away Christmas, Haymitch!” Oh God. She sounds like a character straight out of a Dr. Seuss book. She drags a hand over her face, petulant. “Like you wouldn’t be pissed off too if you found out you had to work through the holidays.”

“Guess what, sweetheart. I _do_ have to work through the holidays now. With the likes of you two idiots, so I think I get the rawer deal here.”

“Oh, wonderful,” she snaps, dismayed at the prospect of having to spend her holidays locked up with not only Peeta but Haymitch as well.

Haymitch turns his attention on Peeta. "I'm sorry, boy, but looks like Glimmer's gotta go."

Peeta's mouth flattens, but he nods, standing up. Katniss worries her bottom lip between her teeth, averting her eyes and folding her arms over her chest as he moves around her. “Right. I'll go tell my girlfriend that she's gotta pack her bags  _and_  that I won't be seeing her for Christmas after all," he says darkly, leaving Katniss and Haymitch in silence when the door clicks shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is "Watch Me" by Paul McDonald and Nikki Reed.
> 
> I'm on tumblr as muttpeeta, come talk!


	11. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments on the last chapter! I hope this chapter starts to make up for all the angst in the last couple of chapters :)

Katniss E [sent Fri, 2:12 p.m.]: _I’m sorry I won’t be able to see y’all for New Year’s :(_

Madge U [sent Fri, 2:23 p.m.]: _Me too! Gale and I were so excited to see you, we miss you! But we know you’ve got very important work to do ;)_

Katniss E [sent Fri, 2:49 p.m.]: _If by very important work you mean trying not to strangle my bandmate and manager while under house arrest for the next week, sure._

Madge U [sent Fri, 2:50 p.m.]: _LOL please don’t. I’d rather you guys not kill each other. He might be a butthead sometimes but Peeta’s still my cousin. And I need my maid of honor alive, at least through the wedding ;)_

“Fuck,” Katniss sighs. Not about being Madge’s maid of honor. She’s honored to celebrate her best friends’ wedding at their sides. But Madge’s text just reminds her that Peeta is Madge's _family_ , which means he will of course be at that wedding too. So even when they’re not working together, Katniss will still have to see him.

Will she ever be able to escape him?

“Good morning.”

She stiffens at the gruff greeting, glancing up  from her phone as Peeta enters the kitchen. With his damp hair, he looks freshly showered and alert, like he’s been up for a while, but she doesn’t miss the dark smudges under his eyes. The drawn lines of his face. She and Peeta have only been here at Plutarch’s studio house in Tampa to finish recording their album for one night, and, still, he looks as bad as she feels.

“Morning,” she mumbles, shooting off a quick response to Madge about hoping Plutarch doesn’t lock her up to record another album during Madge and Gale’s wedding. Her friend replies with a series of angry red-faced emojis.

Peeta rummages through the fridge while Katniss dutifully ignores him, scooping a spoonful of her blueberry yogurt into her mouth. After a moment, he turns around, setting a carton of eggs and a jug of milk on the counter. Haymitch had paid someone to stock the fridge and pantry with a lot of food before they all arrived. Seated on the beach, the house is huge, with numerous bedrooms, a small gym, not to mention the fully equipped studio. It’s insane. If it weren’t for her present company, and if it weren’t for the fact that she can't see her friends and family for the holidays, she’d absolutely love it here.

“I’m gonna make pancakes,” Peeta says, glancing up at her through his fringe of lashes as he sets a large bowl and a bag of flour down on the island she’s sitting at. “Would you like some?”

She wavers, baffled by his declaration. He’s going to make pancakes? From scratch? And he’s offering to share? Her mouth tightens in a reflexive scowl, as she eyes her unsatisfying cup of yogurt. “Nope,” she finally forces out, hating herself, but she’d hate herself even more for allowing him to _cook_ for her. He just nods like he was expecting that response and turns to the pantry to find whatever other ingredients he needs. Katniss swallows a sigh with another spoonful of yogurt.

They don’t speak for the next few minutes, and, growing bored and restless, she opens Facebook to bring up The Victors’ band page. She tries to ignore it for the most part, since Effie has diligently maintained it for them with regular updates, but Effie still encourages them to stay up to date with what’s happening on social media. As Katniss scrolls through their Facebook timeline, she sees a recent photo Effie posted of Katniss and Peeta, a snapshot of them performing at their last show before the holidays. Her eyes are closed as she sings into the mic, but Peeta’s eyes are open and focused on her as he plays the guitar.

Katniss stares at the photo for an extended beat, a strange heat flaring in her cheeks. In this photo, there is no hint of discord between them, but if her memory serves her right, it wasn’t a great show, at least not by their standards. Without Glimmer there, however, Peeta had seemed able to relax a little. They still had trouble maintaining eye contact while they performed; Katniss made herself focus on his mouth instead of his eyes while she sang, and then when she realized she was a little _too_ focused on his lips, she made herself look at his left eyebrow. Eyebrows were safe.

Chewing on the inside of her lip, Katniss finally looks past the photo and reads the caption, something about The Victors finishing up their studio album over the holidays, then she skips to the comments.

Which is a stupid, stupid idea.

Most of the comments are normal, effusive or excited responses, about the record or the set or something gross about Peeta being hot.

But the most recent comments, which were posted within the past hour, are about Katniss.

Her blood runs cold.

“Oh my god,” she gasps, her eyes widening. Peeta’s hand slips as he cracks an egg, and he mutters an expletive as a shard of shell falls into the bowl.

“What?” he asks, his eyes narrowed at her in alarm. He uses a spoon to futilely scoop out the shell piece.

She ignores him as she reads the comments, her heart thundering in her ears.

_These two are so fake. I saw them at a club in PA. Katniss was all over the redhead from The Peacekeepers, making out and dryhumping him. What a slut!_

_IT’S TRUE! My friend saw her practically fucking Darius on the dance floor, AND I also heard they’ve been all over each other all tour. Poor Peeta :(_

_Ugh that’s so gross. The Peacekeepers are notorious sluts too, so she’s probably got all sorts of STDs now._

“Oh my god,” Katniss hisses again, thunderstruck. Her vision swims slightly as she stares at the nasty words; they blend together until all she can see is _sl_ _ut_.

“ _What_?” Peeta repeats more forcefully, and she finally looks up at him, dazed. Heat floods into her cheeks, a reaction stemming from equal parts anger and embarrassment.

“They’re calling me a slut,” she grits out. His eyebrows shoot up, and he drops the spoon in the bowl to snatch the phone out of her hand. She’s too upset to even care.

“Who?” Peeta frowns as he looks over her screen, his eyes darting back and forth as he reads the comments. They widen marginally before narrowing again, a deeper frown etching into his mouth. Red blazes a trail up his neck. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, jaw tense, and his Adam's apple dips with a hard swallow. He starts thumbing through the page. “Can you delete these?”

“I don’t know!” she snaps. _Poor Peeta_? She seethes. Weird how these so-called fans were too busy monitoring what _she_ was doing to notice Peeta all over his _girlfriend_ at these clubs.

Peeta hands her the phone back and pulls his own out of his back pocket. She watches as his thumbs fly across his screen, and when he doesn’t volunteer an explanation for his actions, she scowls. “What are you doing?”

“Telling Effie,” he says, face down as he stares at his screen, waiting. He types something out again before pocketing his phone. “She’s handling it. Give it a second and then see if the comments are still there.”

Katniss refreshes the page, her legs shaking anxiously as she waits for it to reload, then she finds the picture again and scrolls through the comments. The most recent ones have disappeared. She exhales loudly. “They’re gone.”

“She said she’d block the commenters too,” he says solemnly, before adding, “Apparently, she’s already had to delete comments like that. Might just be the same people spamming our page.”

Katniss sighs, dropping her phone on the island, and palms her forehead. “Fucking fantastic. Guess now I know what Plutarch was talking about.” She’d been too distracted in their meeting in Haymitch’s hotel room to give much thought to his offhand remark about comments on their Facebook page, and it had quickly slipped her mind in the following days, until now. Her hands start to shake. She’s not sure anyone’s ever said something so vile about her before in her life. And they don’t even know her!

“Our own fans hate me,” she says, lifting her head. Her face pinches with bafflement.

“I doubt they’re actually fans.”

“Well, definitely not of _me_. But how great for you that you get a pass, even though you’re the one actually dating someone else! Somehow in their minds _I’m_ the one who’s wronged _you_?” She scoffs in disbelief, rubbing her forehead. It’s hard not to feel bitter. She and Peeta aren’t even together! He’s the one in a relationship, but she has sex with a guy _one time_...Vexed, she rakes her fingers through her ponytail, angrily clawing out any tangles.

Peeta braces his hands against the counter, looking uncomfortable. “It’s not your fault,” he says after a moment, his voice quiet.

“I know that!” she bursts out, bristling. “But it still feels awful when people judge me like that. They don’t know me! Or anything about our— _this_ situation.” She digs her palms into her eyes hard, almost as if she can scrub out the memory of those comments. “Ugh. I feel sick.”

She hears Peeta take a deep breath, like he’s gearing up to say something, probably to offer useless platitudes of comfort, but she doesn’t want to hear it. Sliding off her stool, she grabs the half-eaten container of yogurt and tosses it in the trash can. “I’m gonna go shower before we start recording,” she mutters sourly, making her way out of the kitchen.

“Katniss,” Peeta starts, uncertain, but she ignores him as she stalks into the hallway and bounds up the stairs.

* * *

“Okay, I think we’re good on that song,” comes the disembodied voice through the speaker on the soundboard, and Katniss glances up at the glass surrounding the isolation booth. Beetee, the producer Plutarch hired to work with them while they’re in Tampa, flashes a thumbs up from the other side. “Let’s take a quick break.”

Katniss and Peeta slide their headphones off, hooking them on the stands before they exit the booth. Katniss immediately grabs the mug of Throat Coat she’d been sipping on earlier. They’ve been recording for hours. Her throat feels scratchy and raw, and she eagerly gulps down the soothing, pungent liquid, even though it’s no longer warm.

Peeta flops down on the couch outside the booth to chug from a water bottle. He doesn’t sing as much as she does, so his vocal cords don’t get quite the same workout as hers do.

“That take was an improvement from earlier,” Haymitch grunts from his spot beside Beetee, swiveling in his chair toward them.

Katniss hides her scowl behind her mug. She’s still agitated and shaken by the things she read on Facebook this morning; it’s been hard to shake her brooding mood. So the first and second run-through of the song they just recorded was, admittedly, pretty mediocre. But she thinks she’s done a good job acting professional, at least. She hasn’t snapped at Peeta once since they started recording, which is a far cry from how their studio sessions used to go in the earlier days.

“How many more songs do we have left to record?” Peeta asks, ignoring Haymitch’s backhanded compliment. He cracks his neck, arching it to one side and then the next, before stretching out his legs before him.

Haymitch tallies it up in his head, consulting with Beetee. “We’ve got 16 songs in the bag. Plutarch wanted at least 22 to pick from for the record, so you’ve got a week to record six more songs.”

“Not daunting at all,” Katniss says dryly, steeping the tea bag in her mug.

“Considering we don’t have any more songs written,” Peeta adds, rubbing his thumb across his bottom lip.

“So, you’ve got a week to write six more songs _and_ record them,” Haymitch amends, not without a hint of pleasure at their predicament.

Katniss sips her tea quietly for a moment while Haymitch and Beetee confer among themselves over the mixing console. Finally, she sets her mug down and expels a breath. “Well, I have a song I wrote last week,” she tells Peeta warily, not entirely sure she’s willing to share it with him.

He sits up, a small groove settling between his eyebrows. “Oh?” He doesn’t look annoyed, just perturbed. She nods, so he clears his throat. “Okay. Should we—I mean, can I hear it?”

She’d really rather he not, but she's proud of the song, and she thinks it’s actually really good. And no matter how much it bothers her, they’re a team. She knows Peeta would never try to record a song without her input.

“Okay,” she says with false bravado, grabbing her guitar and her notebook. Peeta scoots to the edge of the couch, his elbows braced on his knees, as she sits down on the floor cross-legged, her guitar in her lap. She stalls by tuning the strings, her stomach cramping with anxiety.

Normally, Peeta plays the guitar on all their songs. She’s played with him before when they’ve been writing but never by herself.

Flipping her notebook open to the lyrics, she strums a few strings until she finds the right key, and, pointedly avoiding his eyes, she begins to sing.

 _“I feel silence, I hear sound_  
_I’m all alone with your letter_  
_Who’s gonna save me now?_  
_If I don’t move, can I still breathe?_  
_You won’t take me down that empty street_

 _So when the wind blows,_  
_Watch me_

 _If you don’t love me now_  
_Why would you ever love me?_  
_If you don’t love me now_  
_If you don’t want me ‘round_  
_Why would you ever want me?_ _  
If you don’t want me ‘round...”_

Katniss fumbles the notes a little, and her face flushes. Keeping her eyes pinned on her notebook, she plays for a moment until she finds the melody again.

 _“Smoke and mirrors, you sure fooled me_  
_When you can’t feel the weight_  
_Of what can’t be seen_  
_I loved you when I couldn’t love me_ _  
You were there for saving_

 _So when the wind blows,_  
_So when the wind blows,_ _  
Watch me_

 _You held me up_  
_How could you erase me?_  
_You let me go_ _  
But I’m not falling..._

 _You should give it up now,_  
_You should give it up now..._ _  
Watch me.”_

The melody dies with little finesse, her fingers abruptly halting on the strings as she stops the song. She doesn’t immediately look at Peeta, feeling oddly out of breath, her stomach tight, but slow, polite clapping distracts her, and she looks up at Haymitch. He looks pleased, even with the sardonic tilt of his smirk.

“Sounds like a hit to me.”

Beetee nods in agreement. Her lips twitch with pleasure, and she glances at Peeta finally. His expression causes her stomach to sink. He looks...disturbed.

“You don’t like it,” she accuses, not really asking. His eyes widen slightly and dart around at the others before landing back on her.

“No, it’s not that—it’s good. I…” He hesitates then shakes his head, his expression clearing, mouth settling into a neutral line. “It’s really good, Katniss. I like it. We should definitely record it.”

She stares at him, unconvinced, and chews on her lip. He won’t quite meet her gaze as he reaches for his guitar and props it in his lap. When he looks up at her, there’s still tiny commas framing his mouth, a concerning wrinkle in his brow. But he presses his lips together and lifts his eyebrows imploringly.

“From the top?”

He waits for her, and she takes a deep breath, expels it, tries to push out the lingering nerves in her gut. Then she starts the song over, and after a few bars, Peeta joins her.

* * *

“I put up a little tree! What do you think?”

Katniss squints at her phone’s screen as Prim swivels her own phone around to point it at a corner of their mom’s living room, the image a blurry, hazy trail of lights until Prim’s hand steadies once more.

Prim wasn’t exaggerating. It’s a small, scraggly Christmas tree, no bigger than three feet tall—and that’s a generous approximation. It’s decked in white Christmas lights and red garland and a couple dozen ornaments. Katniss smiles wistfully when she spots some of the handmade ornaments she and Prim had made over the years growing up. “It looks lovely, Prim. Did you decorate it by yourself?”

Prim’s face pops back in the screen as she twists her phone back around to talk to her sister directly. “Yeah, mom’s been too busy to really do anything. I finally got Mags to take me to a Christmas tree farm yesterday.”

Mags is their 75-year-old next-door neighbor back home who’s had at least two strokes and probably shouldn’t be driving a car at this point. Katniss grits her molars together, swallowing her disappointment. This is par the course for their mother, so she shouldn’t be surprised. It always fell to Katniss and Prim every year to decorate for Christmas. She didn’t mind, really; it helped her get through the holidays, and it made Prim happy. This time, Katniss just hates that she can’t be there to help her sister decorate. She would have at least gotten an actual, life-size Christmas tree, like she managed to do every year without anyone else’s help.

“I’m sorry I’m not there, Duck,” Katniss says woefully. Prim’s face softens.

“Me too. I got your present in the mail today, though!” she says, her smile flashing white.

“You better not open it till tomorrow!” Katniss threatens, smiling anyway. She’d found a little gold charm necklace with a duck engraving at a boutique store in a town they’d played a few weeks ago. It wasn’t much, but it made her think of Prim, and it was a nickname their dad had coined for Prim when she was a toddler, so it seemed fitting.

Prim groans comically. “I guess.” Then she smiles brightly. “Oh! I also found that tree topper you made that we couldn’t find last year, did you see?” She flips the phone back around to show her. Katniss gasps as she takes stock of the top of the tree, something she hadn’t noticed a moment ago. It’s the old clay handprint she’d made for their parents for Christmas when she was 6. Her dad had turned it into a tree topper the next year. They’d used it intermittently for the tree ever since. Last year Katniss couldn’t find it in their boxes of Christmas decorations, which had been devastating at the time.

This year, for some reason, it means even more to her that it sits atop that tree.

Her chest tightens, and she swallows thickly, taking a second to respond. “That’s awesome. Thanks, Prim.” She can feel tears pricking the corners of her eyes, and she blinks rapidly to dispel them.

Her sister beams at the phone. “It was in with the Halloween decorations for some reason. Guess it got misplaced. Anyway, I thought you might appreciate it.” Her tone gentles, her eyes turning pensive and misty. “I miss dad too.”

Katniss nods, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth, biting on the flesh to keep the tears at bay. “Me too,” she finally whispers. It’s Christmas Eve. Ten years to the day he died. She hates being away from her family right now. Really hates it.

Perhaps the only upside to being here is that they’ve been writing and recording so much, she’s barely slept much the last couple days. Which has been a blessing in disguise: no chance for nightmares, at least.

They talk for a little while longer before hanging up with the promise to talk tomorrow on Christmas Day. Katniss flops back on her bed with a haggard sigh, closing her eyes. After a moment, she rolls onto her side and looks at her phone again to check the time. It’s after 11. They’re done recording for the night, at least. Katniss debates calling her mother; she knows this day is just as hard for her. But Prim said their mother was at work, so she likely won’t answer. Katniss will just talk to her tomorrow.

Feeling restless, Katniss climbs out of bed and pads out of her room, down the long hallway to the ridiculously ostentatious, winding staircase. It’s dark downstairs, but a light glows from the kitchen, and she follows it.

She expects to find Peeta, but the kitchen is empty, a lone light over the stove left on. The twinge of disappointment is briefly concerning, but she shuts it down. Striding into the kitchen, she grabs a glass from the cabinet to fill with water before she settles onto a stool at the island. She sits in silence as she sips it, grabbing an orange from the fruit bowl to roll idly between her palm and the counter.

She hears a glass door slide open and glances across the room toward the balcony. She squints through the darkness. Haymitch wanders inside, frowning when he spots her.

“Figured you’d be catching up on sleep,” he grunts when he gets closer, a glass of liquor clutched in one hand. An air of cigarette smoke clings to him. She doesn’t see him smoke often, but occasionally he indulges the habit, like on a particularly long or stressful drive. She watches as he digs a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pocket, shoving them into a drawer. Marlboro Reds. She narrows her eyes.

“I was talking to my sister. Not really tired anyway,” she answers with a shrug. Haymitch makes a sound of acknowledgement as he digs around in the fridge, pulling out ingredients to make a sandwich.

They don’t speak as he slathers mayo and mustard on two pieces of bread and stuffs some ham and cheese between the slices. He stands while he eats, taking generous, messy bites out of the sandwich. She wrinkles her nose before looking away, catching sight of the microwave clock. 11:36 p.m. A little less than half an hour and this day will be over, finally. Another anniversary behind her.

“Today’s the day, huh?” Haymitch asks, studying her carefully, as if he can read her mind. She wonders if he can see it all over her face. Her chest tightens, but after a moment’s hesitation, she nods. He knows everything already, apparently.

Haymitch nods too and continues eating his sandwich. She’s relieved he doesn’t pry for more, doesn't ask how she’s _feeling_.

“You know, I lost my old man when I was young,” he says eventually, catching her off guard. She blinks at him, her lips parting. His face is impassive as he takes another bite, but he’s looking at her.

“What happened?” she asks finally.

“Aneurysm,” he says matter-of-factly. “Just dropped dead one day at work. I was 9.” He takes a moment to finish his sandwich. “Nothing as tragic as what happened to your father, but I had a younger brother and sister. My mom became a single parent overnight. So, I know how rough losing a parent is at that age.”

Katniss drops her eyes to the counter and nods absently. “Yeah,” she murmurs in agreement.

“You’re gonna be alright, kid,” he says, his voice gruff, and she looks back up at him in mild surprise. He’s watching her, an understanding and tenderness in his eyes she’s not used to. She takes a deep, tremulous breath.

“Thanks, Haymitch,” she whispers, and he nods once more, gathering the sandwich ingredients to put back in the fridge. Grabbing his drink, he downs the rest of it in one deep swallow and smacks his lips in satisfaction.

“Try to get some sleep tonight, yeah?” he says, and she dips her chin in noncommittal agreement when he claps his hand on her shoulder, then he slips out of the kitchen to head upstairs.

She stares at the spot where he stood long after he’s gone before she sighs, drops the orange back in the fruit bowl, and stands up from her stool. Circling the island, she opens the drawer he stored his cigarettes in and slips one out of the pack. Katniss grabs the lighter then glides over to the balcony to follow Haymitch’s lead, silently shutting the glass door behind her as she slips outside.

A soft ocean breeze lifts her hair around her face, and she sinks down into a chair, fisting her long hair over her shoulder to tame it. She cups her hand around the cigarette in her mouth to buffer against the wind. It takes a few attempts to light the cigarette, the wind whipping the small flame out several times before the dried tobacco leaves can catch.

With a deep inhale, she settles back into the chair and casts her gaze out over the inky ocean waves. The smoke burns her lungs before she exhales it, and she closes her eyes in small relishment, staving off the reflexive cough. She used to smoke years ago when she was in high school, sneaking cigarettes with Gale from his father until Gale was old enough to buy his own packs. She quit when she got more serious about her music, afraid of ruining her voice and lung capacity. She hasn’t smoked since.

But sometimes the cravings still hit her, particularly when she’s really upset, and tonight she just really needs one.

She stares at the waves crashing on the shore, taking occasional drags. Only a couple minutes pass before the sliding door opens behind her, startling her out of her reverie. Her body jolts as she glances over her shoulder.

Peeta.

“You’re gonna ruin your voice, you know,” he says, shutting the door behind him. She rolls her eyes, ready to snap at him, but her eyebrows lift when he plucks the cigarette from her fingers, only to take a drag from it himself.

“Hey,” she protests, watching the way his lips purse around the filter to inhale.

He exhales as he leans against the railing, facing her. He doesn’t give it back to her.

“Thought you didn’t smoke,” she says drolly, recalling their petty bickering in the store from weeks ago. She lifts her legs into her seat and wraps her arms around them, hugging loosely.

“Not anymore,” he amends, surprising her. His expression is wry. “College. I made some bad decisions.” She arches an eyebrow, but he asks, “Where did you find these?”

“Haymitch had them.”

He nods, taking another drag. “I gave the pack to him,” he says after he exhales. Finally, he turns the cigarette back over to her. “I didn’t think you smoked either.”

“Not anymore,” she echoes. His mouth twitches as she inhales from the cigarette again. She is too conscious of the moistness left by his lips, where her lips touch now.

“So why now?”

“Sometimes you just need a cigarette,” she mutters, flicking the ashes. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, twisting against the railing to peer out at the sea.

“Tell me about it.” His response is a murmur, barely audible over the sound of the waves and the wind. She studies the balanced lines of his profile, turning over his response in her head, wondering what’s bothering him enough to actively seek out her company right now.

“Are you okay?” he asks after a lull, looking back at her. Her body tenses, unprepared for his question. “You seem distant. More than usual.”

She drops her gaze, flicking distractedly at the cigarette filter with her thumbnail, and she hugs her legs tighter. She’s surprised he’s noticed any kind of difference in her demeanor. She thinks about telling him, actually opening up to him and telling him about her father, but her throat remains clogged, the words locked inside her like a precious pearl. Instead, she shrugs. “Just miss my family.”

Peeta nods thoughtfully. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

She considers his words with a small frown, almost appalled with herself that she didn’t stop to consider he might be feeling similarly. He doesn’t get to spend this holiday with his family either. She remembers what he told her once, that he only sees his parents on Christmas. She chews on her lip before she speaks.

“Were you...supposed to go to Seattle for Christmas or…?” she trails off uncertainly.

He nods but doesn’t reply at first. Then, as if he senses her unspoken question, he says, “Glimmer and I broke up.”

Her fingers tighten around the cigarette reflexively, a spastic motion, and her lashes flutter as she stares at him in shock. He continues staring out at the ocean, the moonlight illuminating the tension in his jaw. Katniss’ lips part soundlessly, and she reels slightly, her head pitching. She wonders if the nicotine is making her lightheaded.

“Why—because of what Plutarch said?” she asks, her voice creaky.

Peeta shakes his head. “No. Not really.” His hands tighten around the railing, his arms braced before him. “There were...many reasons.” He lifts a shoulder dismissively. The flesh of his hands are practically white.

“Oh,” she whispers, fixing her gaze on the delicate barrel of ashes dangling precariously from the nearly finished cigarette.

They don’t speak for a moment until he pushes off the railing with a weary sigh, turning around. His lips turn up in a nearly imperceptible smile, but she can’t read his expression. “I’m gonna go to bed,” he says, crossing to the door, and as he slides it open, he adds, “Don’t stay up too late, or Santa won’t come.”

She rolls her eyes but lets a small smile slip out when he shuts the door behind him. Her eyes linger out over the water, unseeing, as she tries to process his words. He and Glimmer... Her pulse beats in her throat like the flutter of wings. She swallows and closes her eyes, bewildered by her body’s response to the news.

Nicotine. Cigarettes are a stimulant, she reminds herself, very reasonably. Leaning forward, she drops her feet to the balcony and stamps out the rest of the cigarette in an ashtray beside the chair. She sits up straight, her mind alight with too many thoughts. Giving herself a shake, Katniss pulls her phone out of her back pocket and looks at the time. She’s surprised to see it’s after midnight. 12:09 a.m. Christmas Day.

She survived another anniversary.

Relieved, and inexplicably dazed, she puts her phone away and heads inside to go to bed. Hopefully, sleep will follow.

* * *

_“Look at that house, dad!”_

_“That’s lovely, sweetie.”_

_Her warm breath fogs the cold window, her lips ghosting over the glass as she gapes at the shroud of twinkling white lights, still visible through the streaks of snow streaming past the car. Her gloved hand flattens against the window; eyes dart to the next house and widen._

_“Dad, look! They have a huge snow globe on their lawn!”_

_She swivels in her seat to look at him, but his eyes are fixed on the road, jaw tight. Her stomach dips in disappointment, and she reaches for his arm, tugging on his sleeve. “Dad!”_

_He glances at her quickly, smile forced, before he’s back to looking out the windshield. The snow is coming down hard. “I see—”_

_“You’re not even looking!” She tugs again, and he sighs harshly, turning back to squint out the passenger window for longer than a split second this time._

_“That’s really cool—”_

_Headlights cut across the windshield, and her father gasps, his hands jerking on the wheel. She feels a sickening pull in her stomach as the car whips and slides._

_“Katniss—!” Her father’s voice cuts off._

_Metal crunches and squeals, and she jolts, hard. The world spins around her. Glass cracks, shatters. Something hard slams against her face. She screams, the seat belt searing across her chest._

_The screams don’t stop, even when things go black around her. It takes her some time to realize it’s just a ringing in her ears._

_She blinks, dazed, struggling for air. She can’t breathe, panic filling her chest like stuffed cotton. Finally, she coughs, pushing her lungs out, pulling a breath in. Warmth trickles up her forehead into her hair. Up? She’s upside down, her pigtails dangling like streamers. She tries to move, to squirm against the seat belt, but her head aches. Her face, her torso, her arm, too. Her eyes sting, and she smells something acrid and tangy in the air. An airbag deflates in front of her._

_Cold air drafts around her, chilling her._

_“Dad?” she croaks, finally pushing the sound through her tight throat. She turns her head to find him._

_She wishes she hadn’t, wishes she’d never regained consciousness before the paramedics could arrive._

_The driver’s side of the car is caved in, crunched inward from the side and from above. She sees blood and mangled flesh and bone—_

_This time it is her screaming._

_“Dad!”_

“—Katniss!”

Her eyes snap open, blood roaring in her ears. Her throat feels raw and shredded. Her head whips around wildly, tears blurring her vision. But she sees Peeta above her, his hand on her shoulder as he shakes her.

Her body revolts, and she flails. “No!” she shrieks on a shuddering breath, trying to twist away. She’s _so cold_ , and when she squeezes her eyes shut, she can still see everything like it only just happened. _Blood. Flesh. Bone._

“No!” she cries, choking. “Dad!”

“Katniss, calm down!”

She tries to wrench her arm away, but Peeta’s grip tightens on her. Then he’s climbing into the bed beside her, pulling her against his chest. “Katniss, stop. Stop, it’s just a nightmare.”

She puts her hands on his chest to fight him, to push him away, but her hands betray her, pulling him closer, clawing at his shoulders, his neck, his shirt. She buries her wet face in his chest and wails. “No, it’s real. It’s real,” she sobs on a broken gasp.

His arms tighten around her, suffocating her to his chest. “Shh. Katniss. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

But she shakes her head because she’s not, she’s not okay. How can he say that?

“Jesus Christ, did you two finally decide to kill each other? What’s all the screaming for?”

She’s only distantly aware of Haymitch’s gravelly voice, and she twitches away from it, her cries muffled against Peeta’s neck. Her body convulses with another shuddering sob.

“Not now, Haymitch. I’ve got it. Go back to bed.” Peeta’s voice is hard and commanding, but gentle still. She misses Haymitch’s grumbled response, but he must disappear because Peeta sighs after a moment.

“Katniss.”

But she’s somewhere lost to her nightmare, to the horrific memory. Minutes, hours bleed away. Her voice grows hoarse the longer she sobs into his chest. Her eyes become swollen and heavy. She keeps them closed, trying to ward off the images in her head, but still they persist.

A hand settles on her head, reverently cupping the back. Warmth seeps into her scalp as Peeta threads his fingers through her hair, and he strokes her head softly, combing out the lightly tangled knots. His voice is a low soothing murmur in her ear, even if she can’t make out what he’s saying. Slowly, eventually, her cries quiet and fade into soft hiccups and sniffles. Her fingers ache from their unrelenting grip on his shirt, the collar stretched out in her clenched fists.

She’s not sure how long he holds her. She’s exhausted herself from crying so hard, and her limbs begin to tremble from the exertion, the waning adrenaline from her nightmare still coursing through her body. Peeta hugs her tightly to try to ease the tremors, and he lowers her to the bed, lying down beside her stiff, coiled form. She’s still tucked against his side, face hidden against his chest, and his hands rub up and down her back and arms until gradually, slowly, she relaxes, melting into the bed next to him.

Her mind is hazy, drifting, but when she feels him move, feels the negligible space between their bodies as he starts to pull away, she clings tighter. “Don’t,” she croaks, and he stills briefly before folding her against his side again.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Just go to sleep.”

Somehow, with his steady breaths in her ear and his solid arms around her, she manages to fall back to sleep.

* * *

When she awakes, Katniss has a brief, delicious feeling of contentment and peace that she intrinsically knows, somehow, is tied to Peeta. She clings to the sensation, wanting to burrow further into the warmth surrounding her, anchoring her to the bed. Her brain slowly cycles to awareness. But she fights it. She doesn’t want to be awake, and she struggles to stay in this place where she’s happy and safe. She hasn’t felt this safe since her father died.

Her father.

Abruptly, the events of last night come rushing back to her, clicking through all the working synapses of her brain, and her eyes fly open. Or, try to, anyway. They’re swollen and gritty, and she squeezes them shut again, suddenly tired beyond measure.

That’s when she becomes aware of the weight around her waist, the solid warmth pressed against her back. She forces her eyes wide open, her pulse spiking as she groggily puts two and two together.

Peeta.

He came to her during her nightmare. He held her. He comforted her.

And he’s holding her now. Asleep. She can feel the steady rise and fall of his firm chest against her shoulder blades as he inhales, exhales—warm against the nape of her neck. His hand is flattened on her belly, elbow hooked over her hip, and his thighs cradle her own. The flannel of his pants is soft and velvety against her bare legs.

Her breathing labors with the dawning realization that he’s in bed with her, wrapped around her; her heart flutters in her rib cage. Katniss closes her eyes again, forcing her lungs to take slow, even breaths, forcing herself to relax.

It’s easier than it should be.

He’s just so warm. Soft

Her breath catches in her throat. He’s hard too, in some ways.

She can just feel the bulge against her ass, the hard ridge of his erection. She knows it’s not about her. Probably. Still, her blood pumps harsh and fast through her, awakening her body with a traitorous sort of awareness. She swallows, her fingers curling under the pillow beneath her head, and, despite herself, her back arches ever so slightly, seeking more contact. More pressure.

Peeta stirs, and she goes still as his hand twitches against her abdomen over her shirt, before sliding up to her ribs to pull her closer. She doesn’t breathe, doesn’t dare open her eyes, when she senses the change in his own breathing, the subtle shift between asleep and awake. He buries his face in her shoulder, his breath hot and moist even through her shirt, and a groggy, pleased sound sticks in his throat as he moves against her, his own body mirroring hers now as he arches into her, harder, closer—

Then he freezes, and she hears his sharp intake of breath as he processes their predicament. Her throat clamps shut, like it’s trying to stop her heart from crawling out through her mouth while she anticipates his reaction—his horror.

But he moves slowly, carefully, so carefully, extracting his arm from around her, bridging away from her this time. She immediately misses his warmth, a chill filling the vacuum left by his body heat, but she feigns sleep, refusing to open her eyes, to move an inch. It’s an effort to keep her breathing steady, to not tremble.

Peeta slides out of bed from underneath the covers, but he seems to stand there, watching her, for a tense moment that drags on. She can’t see him, can’t look over her shoulder or crack an eyelid, to see what he’s doing.

He sighs deeply, then he’s walking away. The swishing sound of his pants indicates his path around the bed and toward the door, and she only knows he’s gone when the sound fades down the hallway. Finally, she opens her eyes and squints at the open door.

Waiting.

He doesn’t come back.

Disappointed, she shakily pushes into a sitting position and drops her head into her hands to rub futilely at her eyes. She sits there for a couple minutes, tasking herself with the simple effort of simply breathing in and out, while she tries to wrap her mind around what happened. Why she feels so despondent in his wake.

A sound in the doorway startles her, and she lifts her head. Peeta stands there, seeming surprised to see her awake. They stare at each other, wide-eyed, before he clears his throat and takes tentative steps toward her.

“Hey,” he says, voice rough. He holds out a washcloth to her. “Thought you could use this. For your eyes.”

Dumbly, she reaches out and takes it from him. It’s damp and cold. Her throat closes again, but she manages to force the words out in a murmured “Thank you.”

He just nods and waits while she presses the cold compress to her eyes. Her relief is a quiet hiss through her teeth, and she sits there for a moment, holding the washcloth to her face. It feels amazing on her puffy eyes. She’s sure she looks awful; the thought makes her hide behind the washcloth for even longer. She hates that he’s seeing her like this, seeing her in all her despicable vulnerability.

She doesn’t hear him leave again, and after a while her skin starts to prick with awareness of his presence, so she lifts her head. He’s standing at the foot of the bed, arms crossed over his chest as he stares off in the distance, seeming lost in thought. But, as if he senses her eyes, he glances back at her. The wariness she feels is reflected on his face.

With a silent sigh, Katniss lowers the compress to her lap. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, the admission putrid in her dry, sore throat, but she soldiers on, “for last night—”

“Katniss,” he interrupts, his arms dropping to his sides. “Don’t apologize for last night. You had a nightmare.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” she murmurs, focusing her gaze on the bed spread.

“It’s okay,” he says, then he’s quiet for a moment. When he speaks again, he’s hesitant, his lips parting wordlessly until he can find the right phrasing for what he says next. “You were...you said something about your dad.”

She licks her lips nervously. They’re dry, cracked, so she places the compress to them, to dampen them. Finally, she nods at his unspoken question, still avoiding his eyes.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but...” He takes a step closer to the bed, sitting on the edge. His body twists toward hers, and his brow pinches together like he’s trying to figure her out. She represses the urge to hide behind the washcloth. “Are you...having nightmares about his death?”

“Yes,” she lets the word out on a rush of air and presses the washcloth to the bags under her eyes. “I haven’t...I haven’t had dreams this bad since I was a teenager,” she admits.

He presses his lips together in thought. “What happened to him?” he asks gently.

She clutches the cloth tightly and meets his gaze. “You never...looked it up online?”

His eyebrows nearly touch as he stares at her, and he shakes his head. “If you didn’t tell me, then you didn’t want me to know.”

She closes her eyes, shoulders sagging slightly. After the radio interview, she just assumed he would’ve looked into it, like Haymitch and those DJs had.

She doesn’t like to tell people. She doesn’t like to talk about it. Tries her best not to think about it. But for whatever reason, his death has been plaguing her more than usual this year. It’s impossible to ignore it, to hide it.

And, strangely, she realizes she doesn’t want to, not from him, not anymore. After what he did for her last night, he deserves to know the truth. He should hear it from her.

She takes a deep breath to steel herself. “My father...he died when I was 12. On Christmas Eve. In a car accident. I was with him.” She expels the breath after she releases the words, as if she’s releasing the burden of holding in the truth, finally. Her hands drop to her lap, and she begins twisting the rag. Peeta listens intently, his mouth creased with sympathy as he watches her, waiting.

She’s quiet for a moment, trying to parse through the story, the decade’s old memory. After her dream, it’s all so fresh now. Things she’d forgotten, images she’d locked away, refused to think about, just so she could get through every day of her life. She shudders.

“He...we were on our way to church. We did the Christmas Eve service every year. I sang in the choir. I always liked singing the Christmas carols.” Her mind races, heart beating faster as she relives the memory. She swallows. “My mom stayed home with my sister, so it was just me and my dad. It was snowing that day, really hard. I wasn’t worried, I just wanted to look at all the Christmas decorations on every house we passed on the way to church, like he and I did every year.

“He wasn’t going that fast, but...” Her voice catches stickily, and she closes her eyes for a moment before making herself continue. “I wanted him to look at this one house. He only looked for a second, but a car going the opposite direction hit some black ice and—and my dad tried to get out of the way, but the other car hit us and...our car flipped over a few times until we landed upside down in an embankment. I lost consciousness, I guess, and when I came to, my dad—I...he was dead.”

Tears press at the back of her eyes, welling, as she remembers looking at him, crushed and mangled from the impact of the other car when it hit his side head-on.

Hastily, she presses the rag to her eyes to stop anymore tears.

She hears Peeta’s harsh intake of air, and when she looks up at him again, he looks stricken, pallid. “Jesus...I’m so sorry, Katniss.” His throat constricts with his swallow. “I can’t imagine...” He runs his hand through his hair. “I’m just sorry. That’s an awful thing for a child to go through.”

She looks down at her lap, emotions churning in her gut, then she finds herself giving voice to a thought she’s never said out loud before. “It was my fault.”

“What?” He sounds aghast, confused, but she shrugs.

“He was worried about driving to the church, but he knew how much it meant to me to sing in the service. It was a thing we did together. And—I shouldn’t have made him look away from the road, it was so _stupid—_ ”

“Katniss, stop.” His tone is hard, and her words die in her throat. “You were a kid. You can’t blame yourself. It wasn’t your fault. It doesn’t sound like it was anyone’s fault. It just...happened.”

She inhales tremulously, her lips quirking in a droll smile, and she rakes a hand through her knotted hair. “I don’t know if that’s any better.” Maybe that doesn’t make any sense—but Peeta seems to understand, because his mouth tightens as he looks away, turning her words over in his head.

“I know. I mean, even if you think it’s your fault, at least you can tell yourself you could have done something different. It could have ended differently. But knowing and accepting nothing would have changed what happened...that’s harder.” He wavers, his gaze sweeping around the room as he gathers his thoughts, then he sighs. “You can’t carry that around with you the rest of your life, Katniss. That guilt’s not yours to own.”

She chews her lip, not sure she believes him, not sure she can accept that. Still, she feels a little better after his words. A little more buoyant. So much so that she keeps talking, the words spilling out more easily now.

“He and I used to sing together. It was our thing. He played the guitar, and I sang, and—” It’s an effort to push past the lump in her throat again, and finally she releases a heavy breath. “That’s why I don’t...I _can’t_...play guitar on stage. It just feels wrong.” Her eyes warily lift to his to gauge his reaction.

He looks like he understands, his features smoothing with this knowledge as he finally learns her secrets. “Yeah, I get it,” he says softly.

It doesn’t feel that bad now that she’s told him. She feels lighter. And relieved.

Neither of them speak for a minute until Peeta stands up. “Thank you for telling me, Katniss.” She nods, suddenly feeling awkward all over again, and he rubs at the back of his neck. “I’m gonna go make breakfast, I think. Would you like anything?”

She shakes her head automatically, wanting to crawl back under the covers and just sleep the day away, but when he starts to walk out of the room, she feels a tug in her chest, like something in her is reaching out to him.

“Wait,” she calls, surprising herself. Surprising him. He pauses in the doorway, looking back at her expectantly. Her mind scrambles for something more, not really sure why she called out to him.

She meets his eyes, and her mouth curls into a hesitant smile. “Um. Pancakes?” she asks, rubbing her arm.

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and he nods. “Yeah. I can do that.”

* * *

When she ventures into the bathroom, she’s horrified by her reflection. Splotchy cheeks, red eyes rimmed by puffy, dark circles, and a pink nose. The knowledge that Peeta saw her like this only exacerbates her embarrassment. She takes a quick shower, and when she emerges, she feels a little more refreshed. She only looks microscopically more presentable, but she wanders downstairs to eat breakfast with Peeta, anyway. Haymitch must be asleep still since it’s relatively early, so she and Peeta eat alone, the silence between them awkward but not entirely uncomfortable. She’s all talked out after unloading everything on him this morning, and he seems to understand that.

When he sets the plate of pancakes down in front of her, he tells her, “Merry Christmas, Katniss,” which makes her feel inexplicably shy. And irrationally guilty for not having something for him in return. So she just mutters the greeting in kind and shovels fluffy, syrup-drenched bites of pancake into her mouth.

They’re delicious, too. She tells Peeta as much, eyes cast down on her plate to avoid meeting his stare, but in her peripheral she sees him smile.

After breakfast, she whiles away the rest of the morning and afternoon in bed, watching TV in between naps. She calls Gale at one point, who puts his phone on speaker so she can talk to him and Madge at the same time. Then she talks to Prim for an hour, pointedly neglecting to mention her nightmare about their father. No need to worry her sister with these things on Christmas. Once she gets past the holidays, the horrors will fade.

She gets texts from Finnick and Annie wishing her a Merry Christmas, and one from Darius, too. Which is a little weird but also nice that they can still be cool with each other after sleeping together. He hasn’t tried to press her for more sex, though he’s been as flirty with her as ever, but she’s ultimately relieved they’re both on the same page. She’s fine leaving their night together as a one-off.

Katniss debates calling her mother, but she chickens out and sends her a text instead, knowing her mother has a shift at the hospital in the afternoon. She doesn’t expect a reply back yet, but she gets one from her mother about an hour later when she’s sitting on her bed, doodling in her lyrics notebook.

_Merry Christmas, Katniss._

Then another one a moment later:

_I love you, and I’m so proud of you._

Tears fill her eyes, and she quickly blinks them away, shaking her head with a laugh at her ridiculous reaction. It’s not that her mom never tells her she loves her, but for some reason, today, this text means everything.

Her mother’s never said so, but over the years Katniss always wondered if she blamed her daughter, even just a little bit, for losing the love of her life. Katniss didn’t realize until this morning how much the thought weighed on her, how it helped fracture any closeness between her and her mother after his death.

With a tremulous breath, Katniss texts her mother back with words she doesn’t say often: _I love you too_. Once the text sends, she feels her guilt lessen, even fractionally.

Since it’s Christmas day, Haymitch told them they could take the day off from recording. He gave Beetwee the day off as well, so he could be home with his family. Haymitch orders Chinese food for dinner, and when it arrives, Katniss heads back downstairs to eat, her mouth already salivating at the smell of greasy, fried food.

Her spirits lift when she finds Haymitch unpacking the large brown paper bag. “Did you get egg rolls?” she demands, and he scoffs.

“What do you think I am, an amateur?” He pulls out a bag of egg rolls and slides it across the kitchen island. Katniss snatches it up, hissing as she all but burns her fingers on the hot wax paper, but she inhales the aroma greedily. He gives her an assessing look, like he’s trying to gauge her current state of mind; thankfully, he hasn’t asked her about her nightmare or why she was screaming bloody murder in the middle of the night. He can probably guess.

“Go round up the boy, will ya?”

“Oh.” Pursing her lips, she puts the egg rolls back, only briefly wavering before she turns back to the stairs to track down Peeta. She hasn’t seen him much today, not after breakfast and their talk this morning. He seemingly locked himself away in his room, too. She feels nerves trickle into her stomach as she climbs the steps, and she hugs her arms around her stomach to ease the growing anxiety.

When she approaches his room, the door is open, but she doesn’t immediately see him. She lingers a moment, confused, until she hears the music. Guitar, she realizes, though it’s faint. The patio door on the opposite side of the room is slightly open; it’s an unseasonably warm Christmas, even for Florida. He must have missed being able to crack open the balcony door of their hotel rooms the past month while they traversed the northern states.

Curious, Katniss creeps closer. The curtains block her view of him on the balcony, but she can hear him, his voice low as he sings quietly and strums the guitar.

She pauses at the door, holding her breath and straining to listen.

 _“...these cold and damp white mornings_  
_I have grown weary_  
_If through my cracked and dusty dime-store lips_  
_I spoke these words out loud,_ _  
Would no one hear me?_

 _Will I always feel this way?_ _  
_ _So empty, so estranged...”_

Her eyes widen as she absorbs the words, the visceral pain she hears in his voice underscoring the haunting lyrics. It leaves her short of breath, and she grabs the door handle to steady herself.

 _“I looked my demons in the eyes,_  
_Laid bare my chest, said,_  
_Do your best to destroy me_  
_See, I’ve been to hell and back so many times,_  
_I must admit you kind of bore me_  
_There’s a lot of things that can kill a man_  
_There’s a lot of ways to die_  
_Yes, and some already did and walk beside me_

 _There’s a lot of things I don’t understand_  
_Why so many people lie_  
_It’s the hurt I hide that fuels the fire inside me_  
  
_Will I always feel this way?_  
_So empty, so estranged...”_

She takes a deep breath, feeling a hollow pit in her own chest as the refrain fades, the guitar melody growing fainter until his fingers eventually go still on the strings. She doesn’t open the door wider immediately, struggling between her conscience and her ingrained sense of self-preservation, but after a moment of conflict, she pushes the curtains aside and slides the door open. Peeta just sits in a patio chair, hands limp on the guitar, lost in his thoughts, not having heard her yet, apparently. As she steps outside into the darkness, the ocean just beyond the house, she’s struck by how similar this moment is to when Peeta found her on the downstairs balcony last night.

He looks surprised to see her when she steps closer to him, finally jerking out of his reverie.

“Food’s here,” she says quietly, and he nods faintly in acknowledgment.

“Okay. I’ll be down in a minute.”

But he looks away, his eyes distant, and she stays rooted to her spot, wrapping her arms around her waist. Another deep inhale to steel herself. “That was a good song. Did you write it?” she asks, her words halting. He nods again, still far away. “It sounds...sad.”

His lips quirk in a bland smile. “Not very Christmas-y, I know.”

She chews on her lip as she stares at him. The moonlight plays off his features, highlighting the weariness he carries in his jaw, in his brow.

She can do this. She can give him something, after this morning.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, her voice soft. She grips her elbows tightly to stifle the urge to turn tail and run.

His forehead creases as he looks up at her again. The hook in his mouth this time is sardonic, but not hostile. “You really care?”

She obscures her flinch, knowing it’s a warranted question. Neither of them have been very kind or sympathetic to each other up until this point. Definitely not her, anyway. And that realization bothers her, for some reason.

She forces a small, pursed smile, tucking her hands under her armpits as the mild chill finally starts to seep through her clothes to her skin. “You’re my bandmate, Peeta. As hard as it is to believe, I don’t like to see you in pain.” Her lips turn up even more. “When it’s not inflicted by me, I mean.”

This time, his smile is more genuine, lifting slightly at the corners. He threads his fingers through his hair, pushing the curls off his forehead, before he moves the guitar from his lap to prop it against the wall. He sighs and shakes his head, and she can see the reticence in his eyes. “I don’t really want to ruin Christmas with my sad-sack shit,” he hedges, his tone wry.

She frowns. “You mean, like I ruined it this morning with my sad-sack shit?” she reminds him, withholding a grimace.

He tilts his head, like he’s conceding her point. “You had a nightmare. You couldn’t help that,” he murmurs.

“Yeah, and you can’t help how you feel right now. So. Tell me.” She hesitates before asking, “Is it because of—of Glimmer?” she guesses, remembering what he confessed to her last night. The topic has been percolating on the fringes of her mind since he told her, but her breakdown last night and the lingering discomfort after their talk this morning made thinking about Peeta and Glimmer seem impertinent. After hearing his song, however, she can’t deny her curiosity now.

Peeta inhales through his nose, nostrils flaring, and he braces his elbows against his thighs. He doesn’t answer right away, and she starts to regret asking, regrets revealing she’s even been thinking about it, but he finally exhales. “That’s part of it. There’s just a lot of things—” He cuts himself off, dipping his head forward to rub at his forehead. His thumb and forefinger dig into his eyes, gouging deeply into the sockets. She waits anxiously for him to continue, but she doesn’t prod.

Another sigh, and he lifts his head. “It’s just been hard, being on the road for this long. It’s put a strain on my relationship. And I thought I could fix that by bringing her out here, but I just made everything worse.”

“You tried,” she whispers hoarsely, and she has to clear her throat. She tries again. “You tried to make it work.”

He glances at her but just as quickly looks away, his lips pressing together. “I don’t know,” he says, shaking his head ruefully, and she’s not sure what he means exactly. “I just knew I wasn’t being fair to her, so I thought it was best to break up with her.” He rubs the heel of his hand on his thigh and laughs under his breath, the sound dark. “Right before Christmas, too. You were right—I am a shitty boyfriend.”

She recoils, stunned by hearing her own words from all those months ago. Guilt forms a root ball in her stomach, sprouting into her chest, choking her lungs. She regrets saying something so callous to him in her anger. She had no idea he still thought about it.

“Peeta, I—I didn’t even know you then. I didn’t know anything about your relationship,” she stutters. “It wasn’t—I shouldn’t have judged you like that.”

He shrugs. “You were right, regardless.”

Her lips part and close a couple times before she can find a response. “You didn’t really have a choice. Plutarch...he forced your hand. It’s not your fault,” she says, echoing the words he said to her earlier, hoping he can find some truth in it but also knowing how hard it is to believe it.

He scoffs, dropping his head into his hands again. When he speaks, his words are directed at the ground, and she has to step closer to hear him. “It is, though. It is my fault this time. I fucked up. But that’s what I do. I’m a fuck up.”

Her frown returns, and she studies him, perplexed. "Fuck up" is not a phrase she would ever use to describe him; it doesn't even make the list of slurs and insults she's mentally composed about him over the months. In fact, he is infuriatingly competent and apt at...well, _everything_.

He drops his hands between his legs and lifts his head, not meeting her gaze. “I’m such a fuck up, my parents don’t want anything to do with me. I can’t even get my mother to talk to me on fucking Christmas day. My dad says she’s busy with bakery orders, but I’m pretty sure she’s just relieved I can’t make it to their house this year. She can barely look at me every other day of the year, as it is.”

The hurt in his voice is raw and palpable, even under layers of scorn, and the sound squeezes her heart. But she doesn’t understand, her mind racing to process everything he’s saying. She knows he has a strained relationship with his parents, but she doesn’t really understand _why_. Can they really hate his career choice this much that they would shun their own son? There’s something she’s missing.

“I don’t...” she trails off, unsure what to say, hating herself a little for not knowing how to comfort him. She swallows the emotion in her throat.

But Peeta doesn’t seem to hear her, anyway. Words come spilling out like he can’t hold them in any longer “Most days, that’s fine. I can live with it. It’s my own fault. I have my brothers. Well, Rye, at least. I have friends. I’d surrounded myself with people who supported me, who liked me, maybe even loved me. I didn’t have to think about it or deal with it. But being here, on tour, so disconnected from everything and everyone I know, and with a bandmate who hates me.” He squeezes the bridge of his nose. “God, it’s just so fucking hard sometimes.”

Her chest feels so constricted, she can’t take a deep enough breath to calm her erratic pulse. She’s stunned, only able to focus on the end part of his rant: _With a bandmate who hates me_.

A wave of sadness washes through her, weighing her down. Her limbs feel heavy, her arms dropping to her sides. The silence that follows his words is suffocating, and Katniss struggles to find air. He thinks she hates him.

She shouldn’t be surprised, but she is. Has she really been that terrible? Have things really deteriorated that much between them since that first night they met in The Mine?

 _Does_ she hate him?

The question is so jarring, her reaction is immediate, vehement. No, of course she doesn’t hate him. She’s never really hated him, not even when she tried to convince herself she did. But she must have done a great job convincing him.

Her inhale is shaky, but she forces her diaphragm to expand, to draw air into her lungs, before she releases it slowly. Then she speaks.

“Peeta." Her voice quavers. "I don’t hate you. You know that, right?” 

He looks up at her, weary and defeated. His eyes shine in the muted moonlight as he stares at her. Parsing her, taking her apart. His lips press into a thin line before he expels a breath. “Sometimes, I think I do. I think I know that. But other times...” He just shakes his head, looking away, his chin dropping.

She holds herself tighter and bites down on her lip, paralyzed by the tumult of emotions roiling inside her.

How can she comfort him? How can she change his mind?

She thinks back to what he did for her last night, how he held her. How she hadn’t wanted him to let go. She hadn’t realized how starved for human contact she’s been, how good it felt for him to touch her.

Not just anyone. Him.

The realization sends a jolt through her, her lungs expanding with a quick intake.

Hardening her resolve, Katniss takes a step toward him. Ever so carefully, like she’s reaching out to a wounded animal, she touches his hair. Peeta immediately goes still, and even though he’s not looking at her, she can see his eyes go wide, focused on the ground. Her mouth dry, she moves closer until her knee barely grazes the outside of his thigh, and, gathering her courage, she smooths her palm over his head, caressing his hair in soothing, methodical strokes, threading her fingers through his curls.

Peeta releases the breath he’s holding, his shoulders sagging, the tension leaving his body, almost like she’s absorbing it through her touch. He drops his head forward, and when he rests his forehead against her hip, her hand trembles, hesitating only briefly before she resumes stroking his hair. Her heart thrums wildly in her throat.

They’re silent for a moment until she finds the courage to speak again.

“I don’t hate you,” she whispers, needing him to know this, to really understand what she means.

Eventually, he nods. His reply is soft and simple, but thick with relief.

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs by Nikki Reed and Paul McDonald, "Watch Me," and Ray Lamontagne, "Empty."
> 
> I'm on tumblr as muttpeeta, come talk!


	12. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the reviews and comments on the last chapter! Sorry it took longer to update this chapter, but it is much, much longer (twice as long as previous chapters, kinda sorry about that), and I think (hope) it will have been worth the wait. That said it was a beast to edit, so I apologize for any errors and typos!

“So these are your marks for your interview with Caesar. Katniss, you’ll stand here, and Peeta, you’re right beside her,” the production assistant explains, maneuvering the two of them to the black Xes taped on the ground. She nudges Katniss backward until she’s practically pressed against Peeta’s chest. “No, closer. Okay, good.”

Katniss isn’t prepared for the small woman’s strength as she grabs Katniss’ arm, and Katniss wobbles dangerously in the nude, four-inch stilettos Effie put her in. Large hands on her shoulders steady her, and she flushes, not needing to glance over her shoulder.

“Thanks,” she mutters under her breath, too aware of Peeta’s proximity behind her.

“You’re welcome,” he murmurs, releasing her once she’s not in danger of tipping over.

Once the production assistant is satisfied with their arrangement, she nods and glances over her clipboard. “Okay, so you’ll do your interview segment with Caesar—it’s short, just 2 minutes and 45 seconds, and then you’ll film your performances separately.”

Katniss nods along, only barely listening. Haymitch and Effie already gave them the rundown. When Plutarch first told them about doing the Caesar Flickerman show, Katniss had been amazed. She hadn’t realized he meant they were doing the freakin’ _New Year’s Eve_ special with Caesar Flickerman. Of course, it’s a pre-taped segment that’s going to air early in the night, so she and Peeta aren’t technically a part of the New Year’s performances and celebrations, like the bigger musical acts and celebrities.

But _still_.

New Year’s Eve with Caesar Flickerman. _Holy fucking shit_.

She’s trying not to freak out, her arms clutched around her stomach as she bobs her head at the PA’s rapid-fire orders. They’re in a studio in New York City, lights blaring down on them, an audience growing antsy as they wait hours on end for these taped segments.

“—got it?”

“Yep,” Katniss and Peeta reply automatically, oddly in sync, though Katniss has no idea the last thing the PA said. But the woman just marches off after that, yelling commands into her headset.

Katniss squints under the lights, trying not to stare at the audience. She can’t really discern anybody, and she doesn’t want to start picking up on faces now. She can’t imagine anybody here really knows who The Victors are, and she really doesn’t want to see their confused faces right before she’s about to be taped for prime time TV.

“This is surreal,” Peeta says behind her, and she nods.

“No kidding.” He’s still so close to her, but neither of them move an inch, not wanting to upset the PA or screw up the segment in some way.

Things have been interesting the past week, to say the least. They finished recording two days ago, and they’ve been rehearsing for this performance and preparing for the interview by doing dry runs with Haymitch. He assures them the interview will be pretty standard, run-of-the-mill questions and won’t be a repeat of the Kansas City radio station fiasco. The producers just want the show to go off without a hitch, after all. At the moment, Haymitch is somewhere in the wings, or in the green room sleeping off his hangover, probably.

Christmas day marked a detente of sorts between her and Peeta. But more than that, they’ve actually been working cohesively together as a team. Like a well-oiled machine. They’ve been practically _friendly_ toward each other. Still, there’s been an underlying tension to their interactions that she can’t quite put her finger on, or shake.

She’s just too aware of him. Like now, when she knows he’s not exactly touching her, and yet, she swears she can feel him. Like his breath on her bare shoulder, the stiff fabric of his black suit, which fits the broad planes and hard lines of his body sinfully well. She tries not to shift from stiletto to stiletto just thinking about it, locking her knees straight. The stage lights are starting to get hot, and she’s afraid, even though it’s a blustery New York City winter night outside, she’s going to start sweating right here and now, before the interview can even start.

“God, how long does it take them to put Caesar’s wig on?” she grouses under her breath, fanning her face. This time she does feel Peeta’s breath on the back of her neck, a stifled huff of laughter. She bites her lip.

He leans closer, if that’s possible. “They probably have to put it on with a special kind of glue so it doesn’t melt under these lights.”

She snorts and sucks her bottom lip into her mouth to smother the sound before she remembers her lipstick. Pursing her lips, she swipes her index finger over the front of her teeth just in case. She’s going to snark back to Peeta when she finally spots the host of the show striding onto the stage directly toward them. His tux is a shimmery midnight blue, and even his silver-haired wig seems to glint blue under the lights. Her back goes ramrod straight, like she’s falling in line for inspection, and she tilts her chin up, smiling slightly when Caesar flashes a toothy grin at them.

“Katniss Everdeen, Peeta Mellark, what a treat to have you on our show,” he bellows, reaching out to shake Peeta’s hand first. Which is a little grating, since Katniss _is_ standing in front of Peeta, but she fights her reflexive scowl and tries to screw her smile into place.

“Thank you for inviting us to perform. We’re honored, sir,” Peeta replies. From her peripheral, she can see him meeting the unnatural stretch of Caesar’s Crest-white veneers with his own practiced smile.

Caesar waves him off, as if he personally had anything to do with booking the guests. Katniss seriously doubts he’s even heard their music before. Still, she holds her hand out to greet him as he releases Peeta’s.

“We only want the best talent for our show,” Caesar says, and when his eyes fix on Katniss, his grin turns lecherous. He glances between the two of them. “And the _prettiest_. My, the cameras are going to love you two.” He leans closer to Katniss, and her eyes widen. “I can give you a personal tour of the studio later, if you’d like. Just stop by my dressing room after.”

With that skin-curdling comment, Caesar turns away to yell at the production assistant and makeup artist, snapping his fingers for a touchup. Katniss stares after him, aghast, and it takes a moment for her to speak again.

“Did Caesar Flickerman just hit on me?” she finally utters, and Peeta snorts. She glances at him then back at Caesar, who’s being dusted with powder. “Wow. I always thought of him as...asexual, I guess.”

Peeta makes a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat. “Well.” There’s a beat that precedes his next words. “In that dress, who could resist?” he murmurs.

It takes her a second to figure out his insinuation, and when she does, her cheeks flare with heat, the same warmth filling her chest. She glances down at her dress. It’s a black, strapless gown that hugs her body, from her breasts to her thighs where it drapes more loosely to the floor. Her left leg peeks through a slit, just barely. It’s a simple dress, at least compared to the outfits Effie initially tried to coerce her into; Katniss had to beg her to let her wear this gown, even though it was a far cry from her usual stage attire.

But, New Year’s Eve, and all that. She couldn’t get away with cutoffs or skinny jeans and boots for this performance.

She didn’t really think much about how she looked in the dress, just cursed how uncomfortable she knows she’s going to be singing in it. Except, with Peeta’s compliment ringing in her ears now, she’s suddenly very aware of how clingy the material is, how it enhances the curves of her hips and breasts.

She’s too self-conscious to look at Peeta or acknowledge his words, but her hands smooth over her waist, and she thrills slightly as the silky material of her dress slides against her fingertips.

The PA returns, handing them both separate mics, and instantly Katniss feels a little more relaxed, more in control, despite the multiple cameras and sets of eyes pinned on them. Having a mic in hand has always felt right to her. Caesar sweeps back toward them, polished smile in place even after having just reamed out the makeup artist, and Katniss takes a deep, fortifying breath. When she expels it, she screws a smile into place. Peeta’s presence is steady and reassuring behind her.

“Just remember: Speak into the mic when you answer, and _don’t_ look directly at the cameras,” the PA lectures obnoxiously before she scurries out of frame, back to the cameramen. Someone calls for quiet on the set, gives the countdown, and then when they give the cue, the audience starts applauding.

Despite the warning, Katniss’ eyes flicker between the cameras before she can stop herself, but then she forces her gaze on Caesar as he begins talking, launching into the scripted introductions.

She smiles wider when she hears Peeta speak up behind her, taking her cue from him to echo his thanks when Caesar turns to acknowledge them.

“So you two are currently on tour with The Peacekeepers,” Caesar says, his own mic in hand. His eyebrows waggle with his words. It’s almost comical. Katniss tries not to focus too much on his exaggerated facial expressions. “That’s a pretty big deal for a previously unknown band such as yourselves.”

It’s a leading statement, and Peeta jumps in with his usual diplomacy. “It is, and we are very grateful and honored to be given the chance. It’s been an amazing experience.”

Caesar affects a cajoling pout. “Oh, you’ve got to give us some dirt on these guys,” he teases, and the audience laughs on cue. Peeta laughs too, but Katniss feels her smile turn into a grimace. Talk of The Peacekeepers puts her on edge, considering the vile comments people have been leaving on their social media pages about her and Darius (and, apparently now, even Finnick), despite Effie and Haymitch’s reassurances and warnings about this particular subject.

So, stupidly, she finds herself speaking. “Now, Caesar, you know what happens on tour stays on tour,” she says flippantly, but when she catches the gleam in his eye, she realizes her mistake.

 _Fuck._ Why did she open her mouth?

“Interesting,” Caesar crows. “I can only imagine what you all get up to on tour with those guys.”

Katniss has a totally irrational, paranoid thought that he knows—somehow this big-time nighttime television host knows all about her and Darius and the subsequent rumors and stories, and she feels her muscles tighten with anxiety.

Peeta’s hand drapes over her shoulder to give it a quick squeeze. “I think you’re gonna have to get us a little drunker if you expect us to spill anything,” he says breezily, effectively dismissing the line of conversation. Everyone laughs again, and she relaxes, aware of Peeta’s touch on her shoulder until he removes it a second later.

But Caesar catches the gesture, and once again his face takes on the look of a dog with a bone.

“You’ve been touring for—how long, five months? Day in and day out together. I imagine you two must be pretty close to be able to put up with each other for that long.”

“A little too close, probaby,” Peeta says with an amiable laugh. “We spend most of the time in close quarters on the road. Some days I’m amazed Katniss hasn’t killed me yet.”

“Just because I haven’t succeeded yet doesn’t mean I haven’t tried,” Katniss interjects, giving him a look over her shoulder. More laughter from the audience. Peeta gives a genuine laugh this time, though he ducks her look and drops his eyes to the ground briefly. Shyly, even.

“Come, now, you can be straight with us here,” Caesar tries again, leaning closer as if there aren’t hundreds of thousands of people—millions, actually—privy to this conversation. Katniss smiles, despite the flutter of her heart in her throat. This feels like dangerous territory. “The chemistry between you two is quite...palpable. Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell us?”

Her grip flexes tightly around her mic as she fights to keep her banal smile in place. She hears Peeta take a deep breath behind her, and she braces herself for the standard answer Effie and Haymitch have drilled into their brains by this point.

“Being bandmates is a...different kind of relationship, definitely,” he says cautiously. She blinks, confused by the off-script start to his response. “It’s...intense. Challenging. Humbling. Exasperating sometimes. Invigorating. But I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather go through this experience with than Katniss.”

She’s stunned by his words, and it takes her a second to gather her wits, to get sound to accompany the movement of her lips when she realizes Caesar is watching her expectantly. She swallows thickly before replying, with an unexpected depth of honesty, “I wouldn’t trade this experience with Peeta for anything.”

The gleam in Caesar’s eyes dim, but he looks satisfied with the responses, nonetheless. “Well, it’s obvious you two care about each other a lot.” Katniss stiffens at his observation, can feel Peeta go rigid too, but the host doesn’t leave them any time to ponder his words as he continues, “We’ll leave it up to the viewers to decide if it’s something more.” Then he winks and laughs.

Katniss thinks she smiles, hopes she does, anyway. She keeps the grimace on her face while Caesar turns to the camera to tell the audience that The Victors will perform after this commercial break. And then someone is yelling cut, and the set erupts into chaos as producers and assistants swarm so they can get everything set up for the performance. Caesar stalks away, yelling at an intern who appears at his side immediately with script notes and coffee.

With a sigh, Katniss relaxes, the forced smile slipping from her face. She turns, finally free to move from her mark, but when she catches Peeta in the corner of her eye, she glances at him from under her lashes. She means to look away, but then she realizes he’s staring at her strangely, and she frowns.

“What?” she asks, annoyed her voice shakes ever so slightly.

For the briefest of seconds, the skin between his brow pinches, but he immediately shakes his head, clearing the expression. “Nothing,” he says, looking away, hands in his pockets. Then, to defuse the moment, says blandly, “That went okay, I think.”

Thankfully, the PA from earlier returns to hurry them to the side stage set up for their performance: just two stools, two mic stands, Peeta’s guitar, and the amps. Katniss manages not to trip in her stilettos, making the egregious faux pas of hiking her dress up to her knees as she walks to the stage. At least Effie’s not around to screech and slap at her hands.

As the PA mics Katniss up, Peeta shrugs out of his tux jacket and drapes it over the stool. She watches him surreptitiously as he unbuttons the cuffs and rolls the sleeves up to his elbows, wincing mildly when the PA stuffs the earpiece into her ear. Once she’s taken care of, the PA flits over to Peeta to set him up, and Katniss fiddles with her mic stand and then her ear piece until it fits more comfortably. It takes Peeta a few extra seconds to get ready as they set up the mic for his guitar, and then the PA scuttles off.

And then they wait, knowing it’ll likely be a few minutes before the directors give them their cue. There’s a mild roar around the studio as people rush around to finish up last-minute details and the audience members converse among themselves, growing restless. Katniss’ heartbeat almost drowns out the noise, though, pounding harshly in her ears. She tries to shift from foot to foot to relieve her pent-up anxiety, not to mention the ache in her arches, but she’s too stiff in her heels.

With a huff, she hikes her dress up again and kicks her heels off in a display that would give Effie the vapors. Immediately, Katniss’ feet scream in relief as they flatten against the cool stage floor. Hearing Peeta’s laugh, she looks over at him.

“You’re gonna give Effie a heart attack,” he tells her, and she rolls her eyes.

“Not as big of a heart attack as she’d have when I fell flat on my ass in the middle of our performance, which was entirely likely to happen in those demonic shoes,” she says, wriggling her toes. Peeta smiles to himself and tests a few chord progressions on his guitar, adjusts the strings, then tests them again until he’s satisfied.

“Nervous?” he asks after a moment, and she gives him a dubious look, glancing pointedly at the audience then back at him.

“No shit,” she says, fiddling with her earpiece again, this time unnecessarily. “You?”

“Positively shitting myself,” he answers seriously, and she laughs. But his words make her feel better. When it comes to performing, Peeta is very rarely unflappable, at least in the face of an audience. But this crowd, and the millions of viewers watching, must be fraying his nerves a little too.

“At least it’s not live,” she says hopefully, and he looks up at her.

“But if we suck enough, they could just cut us from the broadcast altogether.”

Her lips part in surprise, and she stares at him, having not considered this possibility. And they very well _could_ suck, if the last few weeks of the tour were any indication.

She swallows her nerves and thins her lips in determination. “No, that’s not an option. We’re going to kick ass.”

Peeta smiles at that, a crooked tilt of his lips as he holds her gaze, then he nods. “Hell yeah, we are.”

They call for quiet on the set then, and Katniss takes a deep breath, breaking away from his stare. The audience falls silent, and the lights dim as they set the mood for the performance. Another deep breath, and Katniss expels this one slowly through her lips.

Then it’s action, and just like every night on stage, Katniss stops thinking. She just gives herself to the music.

They perform “Jungle” first, which is the song that will be aired on the New Year’s Eve special later tonight. And for the first time in weeks, she and Peeta click. As soon as she opens her mouth to sing, she locks eyes with him, and she doesn’t look away once, not until the last note of his guitar is drowned out by the roar of the audience as they cheer and applaud.

A triumphant grin ignites her face, her cheeks flushed, and she takes in the crowd before looking back at Peeta. His smile is just as elated.

They don’t wait long before launching into the next song. The producers had asked them to perform twice, though only “Jungle” would be on TV; the second performance they want to put up on the website for bonus footage. They take to their stools for this song, Peeta taking Katniss’ hand to help her onto hers since her dress is too constricting around her legs. Then he sits in his, and a couple PAs move the mics closer to them.

Peeta gives the count, then they launch into their second song. It’s a new one, one they only just wrote and recorded in the past week. Katniss is nervous about debuting a new song for a viewership this large, nervous about remembering all the lyrics, but her blood still trills with excitement and pride at playing new music for a crowd, for _this_ crowd. Even better that Peeta carries the song as much as she does, singing half the lyrics this time.

It’s slower and sultrier than “Jungle,” a nice release after the more hectic tempo of the previous performance. Again, she and Peeta lock eyes and barely break once, but this time, he opens his mouth to sing first.

 _“If you were the ocean, and I was the sun,_  
_If the day made me heavy, and gravity won_  
_If I was the red, and you were the blue,_ _  
I could just fade into you.”_

After a brief flourish on his guitar, Katniss sings the next stanza:

 _“If you were a window, and I was the rain_  
_I’d pour myself out and wash off your pain_  
_I’d fall like a tear so your light would shine through,_ _  
Then I’d just fade into you.”_

Peeta’s voice joins hers,

 _“In your heart, in your head_  
_In your arms, in your bed_  
_Under your skin_  
_Till there’s no way to know_ _  
Where you end, and where I begin.”_

Something about the deep, husky register his voice takes on, harmonizing with hers on the chorus, sends a shiver through her body, like it does every time they sing this song. She remembers when Plutarch first heard the song, he nearly shit himself out of pure excitement.

“That’s it!” he yelled, laughing gleefully. “It’s perfect! That’s the second single! _This_ is what I’ve been waiting for from you two!”

Katniss knew exactly what he meant, too. Judging by the sexiness of the lyrics, the melody, the combination of yearning in both their voices, Katniss knows this is just the song to drive their fans and the press wild with unrelenting are-they-or-aren’t-they speculation.

Hell, she was excited too when they finished writing the song. A day after Christmas, Peeta had approached her with the first two stanzas of the song, and then they sat down together and she helped fill in the rest. They wrote and recorded the song all in three hours, then they buckled down and wrote the four more songs they needed for the album, plus two more. It was nothing short of amazing.

When they finish performing the song, the audience explodes in applause even louder than before. Katniss breathes heavily, even though she sang from her stool the entire time. She glances around and back at Peeta, who raises his eyebrows. Then he stands up from his stool and holds his hand out to her again. She readily takes it, letting him steady her as she hops down from her stool. He doesn’t let go of her hand, and they bow together. She blushes when Peeta holds their hands up and gestures to her to the audience, nodding her thanks again as the audience members clap and cheer more loudly.

Blindly, Katniss turns toward him. They seem to have the same thought because they both reach out to enfold each other in a hug, clinging tightly under the soft stage lights. She can feel his heart race, as fast as hers, his chest heaving from adrenaline. This is the first time they’ve hugged after a performance in weeks.

It feels right.

“Told you,” she whispers in his ear. Somehow he hears her and pulls his head back to look at her questioningly. His blue eyes glimmer, his cheeks pink. “We kicked ass.”

His lips spread in a grin.

* * *

She’s talking to Marvel Witt and Seneca Crane, two of today’s hottest actors, but her eyes constantly drift around the room, looking for the familiar faces of her band mate and the rest of her team. They’re somewhere mingling at this New Year’s Eve industry party just as she is, but she lost track of them about an hour ago when Seneca waylaid her at the bar to take a shot with him and Marvel. And, well, when the hot star of the new action film “The Gamemakers” asks you to take a shot, you take a shot.

But now she can barely force a polite smile as she listens to the two vain, self-absorbed men figuratively whip out their dicks to compare sizes in front of her, with all their blustery name-dropping and film set stories. She regrets being momentarily star-struck.

“Coriolanus Snow said I was the best actor he’s ever had the privilege of directing,” Marvel boasts, and Katniss swears his head nearly doubles in size. He turns his gaze on her. “Have you seen ‘Career’? It was my first indie film—”

“I doubt anyone’s seen it,” Seneca snorts into his Jack and Coke. Marvel’s fake smile barely conceals his sneer, and Katniss doesn’t bother hiding her eye roll as she sips her champagne, the two men launching into yet another round of underhanded verbal jabs and backhanded compliments.

Discreetly checking her phone in her clutch, she realizes it’s nearly midnight. Shit. No way is she going to ring in the New Year with these entitled jackasses.

Downing the rest of her champagne, she trades the empty flute for a full one from a passing waiter’s tray and flashes a bored smile at Marvel and Seneca. “Excuse me, I need to go find my friends,” she says, not waiting for a response as she ducks around them.

She doesn’t look back, weaving through the crowd. A- and B-list celebrities and industry people move around her, laughing and sucking down expensive alcohol provided by District Thirteen Records, who is hosting this particular party in NYC. After they’d finished their taping for the Caesar Flickerman show, Haymitch and Effie whisked them off for a celebratory dinner and then to this party. Unfortunately, The Peacekeepers aren’t here as well, since they’re taking time off to rest before they resume touring in two days.

Katniss keeps an eye out for Peeta, Haymitch and Effie, clutching her champagne glass and trying to move gracefully in her death-trap heels and restrictive gown. Not for the first time, she curses Effie for putting her in this outfit, knowing she should have brought something more comfortable from the hotel as a backup.

She spots Peeta first, his natural blond curls unmissable even among the bleached updos and slick cuts of the silver screen's and music industry’s elite. Relieved, she pivots on her stilettos and heads in his direction.

But she careens to a stop a few feet away when she catches sight of the woman beside him, the petite blonde with the edgy shaved side scalp and vine tattoos talking animatedly to him and making him laugh. Katniss recognizes the woman immediately; Cressida Jenkins, the Gwen Stefani-reminiscent lead singer of her own punk band, The Geminis.

Flushing, she turns away, trying to make her retreat before he can spot her, but of course, because the universe hates her, Peeta glances her way and catches her eye before she can slink away. His expression changes, and he gestures to her with his beer in his hand, raising his voice over the din. “Katniss, hey.”

She gives him a tight smile but continues in her exit, pretending like she was heading somewhere else all along. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Peeta hurriedly say goodbye to Cressida and head after her. Because her dress impedes her steps, he catches up with her in five long strides.

“Hey, wait up,” he says, and with a swallowed sigh, she turns to face him. Clearing her expression, she lifts her eyebrows innocently.

“Yes?”

He smiles, but confusion crinkles his forehead. “Ah...I thought—” He shakes his head to dismiss his words, so she doesn’t hear what he thought. “I was looking for you. Or anyone I know, really.” He laughs, slipping one hand into his pants pocket, and she tries not to purse her lips petulantly. Her eyes drift over in Cressida’s direction before turning back to Peeta.

“Well, looks like you know Cressida Jenkins now,” she says. She hates, hates, _hates_ how snotty and jealous she sounds. And she hates the way he’s studying her right now. God, why is she still sober? She swigs her champagne greedily.

Peeta shrugs. His free hand swirls the beer at his waist. “She introduced herself. She said she liked our single. Apparently she also knows Finnick fairly well.” He retracts his hand from his pocket and scrubs it over his hair. “I haven’t seen Haymitch in a while. Or Effie. Where did you get off to?”

His question sounds casual enough. She’s grateful he’s brushing right past her petty comment.

“Got trapped in the middle of a pissing contest between Marvel Witt and Seneca Crane,” she says with an upward roll of her eyes.

Peeta smiles slightly and sips his beer. “Mm. Yeah, I thought I saw you talking to Seneca earlier,” he says, looking around before letting his eyes land back on her face. “Not as interesting as the characters he portrays in the movies, I take?”

She can hear the humor in his voice. “Hard to believe someone with a beard like that could be so pretentious, right?”

“You’ve pulled the wool from my eyes,” he agrees dryly, and she opens her mouth to say more, but a cheer goes up around them, followed by the chant of a few dozen voices.

“ _10...9...8..._ ”

She and Peeta look around then at each other. With a smile, he joins the countdown, and a second later she does too.

“ _...3...2...1—”_

“ _Happy New Year!_ ”

Shrieks erupt around them, plastic horns and whistles joining, and someone starts up a refrain of “Auld Lang Syne.” Lots of people start making out. Wrinkling her nose at the joyful display, Katniss turns her smile back on Peeta. He’s watching her, a grin on his face. She freezes, unsure what to do, a bizarre shyness washing over her.

After a moment, Peeta lifts his beer up to her, his smile softening. “Happy New Year, Katniss,” he has to yell over the sound, and he steps a little closer so she can hear him.

Swallowing, she lifts her glass up and clinks it against his bottle. “Here’s to another year of enduring van rides with Haymitch and giving Effie periodic strokes.” They both sip their respective drinks.

The music dies down, though laughter fills its absence, and Peeta seems to be considering something. Katniss feels antsy, nervous, a weird sort of anticipation coursing through her veins like the bubbles of the champagne.

“I think it’ll be a good year,” he finally muses. His voice is lower, like he’s talking to himself, and she almost doesn’t hear him. The energy running through her settles in her ribs, warming her from the inside, and she smiles in agreement.

He’s right. Somehow, she knows it. Can feel it in her bones. This is going to be a good year.

* * *

Two days later, they arrive in Delaware for their first show on the tour in nearly two weeks. As exhausting as the daily grind of touring is, Katniss is excited to get back to it. They’ve been working nonstop the past two weeks, and yet, she feels revitalized. Knowing they have more or less finished the record helps boost her frame of mind and gives her the energy to finish out the rest of this tour.

They check into a hotel a couple hours before soundcheck. Haymitch shoves key cards into her and Peeta’s hands. “Room 831,” he tells them before marching toward the elevator bank. The two of them share an awkward look before they both avert their eyes and follow him, dragging their bags and instruments onto the elevator. Haymitch gets off on the sixth floor with a reminder to meet down in the hotel lobby at 4:45, and then the doors shut, leaving her and Peeta in silence.

Katniss tries not to fidget. He clears his throat like he’s about to say something but seems to think better of it, clamping his mouth shut when the doors open on the eighth floor. He lets her off first, and she swipes the key card when she reaches the door, shouldering it open. It clicks shut behind them as she shuffles inside and places her bags on her usual bed, the one closest to the door.

She glances over her shoulder to see Peeta lingering near the door. He clears his throat a second time, but this time he speaks.

“If you’d rather I stay in a different room, I can go back down to the front desk.”

Her eyes widen at his offer. She grabs her braid and runs it through her fingers to calm her sudden bout of anxiety. “No, it’s fine,” she says automatically, looking away. It’s the first time they’ve shared a room again since Glimmer came on tour a month ago. It’s a little weird, knowing they’ll be living and sleeping next to each other again, day in and day out. Especially after everything that’s happened. And while she’s nervous, she’s relieved, something she’d never admit out loud. Because she hasn’t slept well without him in the room with her, a fact she has no interest in examining too deeply. In fact, she hasn’t ever slept as well as she had the night he held her. She hasn’t dealt with nightmares since that night either, but she’s still been restless and wakes up constantly.

Suddenly, she has a horrible thought, and she turns back to him. “I mean—unless you want to stay in your own room,” she hedges, and this time he looks surprised.

“Ah. No. I’m fine.” After a second’s hesitation, he crooks a small smile at her. “Just didn’t know if you’d gotten used to having the room to yourself.”

She shrugs, ignoring the relief sinking in her bones, and turns to root through her bag. “I got used to not being woken up by your snoring, if that’s what you mean.”

“Ha.” He finally walks by her to the other bed, dropping his stuff on top of it. “Maybe you can try not to hog the bathroom this time around,” he says good-naturedly as he passes back by her for the aforementioned washroom. He pauses, head cocked thoughtfully. “At least, try not to leave anything in there you wouldn’t want me to find.”

Her mouth drops as she looks at him sharply. She’d completely put the vibrator incident in the back of her mind, having had much bigger things to worry about the past few weeks. Meeting his gaze, she sees the barely concealed humor in his eyes, and she glowers. Grabbing the closest thing—one of her extra pair of boots—she throws it in his direction. He ducks into the bathroom before the boot can connect with his head, slamming the door shut, but she doesn’t miss the grin on his face before he disappears.

“Jesus, can you stop throwing your shoes at me?” he yells.

“Well, stop being an insufferable jackass!” she yells back, snatching up her projectile boot from the floor.

But she’s smiling, too, despite herself.

* * *

When they arrive at the venue for soundcheck after settling in at the hotel, The Peacekeepers are already there. Katniss didn’t realize how excited she would be to see them again, considering before the start of the holiday intermission of the tour she was getting kind of sick of seeing their faces day in and day out. Amazing what a little time away can do.

Finnick and Annie seem equally excited to see her and Peeta, Darius too, though, admittedly, Katniss feels a little weird going to hug him, especially in front of Peeta. It’s irrational and dumb, but Darius doesn’t seem to notice, and he just moves on to give Peeta a welcome-back fist bump.

They have one of their best shows to date, rolling off the success of their performance on the Caesar Flickerman show. Katniss had watched both of the songs they’d performed on the website after the fact, and even she was amazed at how well they played together. Such a stark contrast to the shows before the holidays. She hopes they’re starting to recapture the magic of their earlier stage chemistry.

So that’s why she’s in a good mood when they go out for the requisite after-party at a club downtown. She’s mindful of Plutarch’s warning about being seen dancing with The Peacekeepers, Darius in particular, so she either joins Annie on the dance floor or only dances in groups. But mostly, she just sits at the table in the VIP section, drinking and talking to the others.

Katniss is chatting with Annie in the booth at one point when Peeta brings her a beer and shots for both of them. She eyes it skeptically as she takes it from him. “What is this?” she asks, leaning closer to him over the table.

He shrugs. “No idea. I just asked the bartender to give me something good,” he says, and she scrunches her nose—mainly for the theatrics.

“Okay, but you only have yourself to blame if I puke tonight.” She’s already feeling tipsy.

He laughs. “Just keep it on your side of the room if you do.” He lifts his shot glass toward her, and she does the same, smiling.

“I make no promises!”

They clink their shots and suck them down. The flavor that hits her tongue is awful, and the liquor leaves a trail of fire down her throat. She swallows it as quickly as possible, her face twisting. Peeta grimaces as he swallows, and Katniss swigs her beer to chase the taste and extinguish the burn.

“I don’t think the bartender likes you!” she yells, her lips still pulled back in disgust. He nods in agreement.

“That was pretty awful,” he says after chugging some of his own beer. Then he puts it down and stands up. “I’m gonna go scrub out my mouth. Be right back.”

He walks away from the table, pushing through the crowd, and Katniss turns her attention back to Annie, a smile spreading across her face despite the lingering bitterness clinging to her tongue. Annie smiles too, but she narrows her eyes playfully, leaning into Katniss’ side. The skin is pinched curiously between her eyebrows.

“So,” she starts loudly, swirling the pink liquid in her cocktail glass. “What happened to Glimmer?”

The question catches Katniss off guard, and she tries not to frown. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, she just kind of disappeared before Christmas. I didn’t know if she’d be back or not for this part of the tour.”

Katniss looks away, picking idly at her beer label. “Plutarch wasn’t happy that she was around, so...” She doesn’t exactly feel comfortable divulging Peeta’s personal information, but the shot must have loosened her tongue a little because she adds, “They broke up right before Christmas.”

Annie nods, sipping her drink. “Thought so.” She gives Katniss an assessing look, her eyes gleaming conspiratorially. “So, what’s going on with you two then?”

“What?” Katniss bristles, this time not fighting her scowl. “Nothing! We’re just—we're working together. Like we always do.”

Annie doesn’t let up, her eyebrow arching in challenge, and she shakes her head. “Nuh uh. _Not ‘_ like you always do.’ You’re being so... _friendly_ toward each other. Something’s different.”

Katniss huffs, leaning back in her booth. “Nothing’s different. We’ve just decided to be professionals and get along,” she says, but she can’t hold her friend’s eye. She’s not sure why she feels so edgy, like her skin is prickling.

“Professionals who...maybe are attracted to each other and want to bang?” Annie ventures, bursting into laughter when Katniss’ eyes bulge.

“Annie, oh my god! Don’t say shit like that!” Katniss’ gaze darts around the bar to make sure Peeta hasn’t returned yet, won’t overhear this mortifying conversation. She’s grateful for the dim lights of the club so her blush isn’t obvious. “He’s not...we’re not... _ugh_.” She can’t even finish the denial, rubbing her forehead.

Annie holds her hands up and shrugs, her lips still stretched in a wide grin. “Okay, I believe you,” she singsongs in a way that clearly means she doesn’t. She leans away and tips her head back to down the rest of her beverage. Katniss exhales loudly, doing the same with her own drink.

She has no interest in trying to decipher her very complicated relationship with Peeta right now. She’s just glad they’re firing on all four cylinders lately; maintaining her guard around him, trying to be angry and distant toward him all this time has been exhausting. Her shoulders have felt so much lighter since Christmas.

She just wants things to stay simple.

But now Annie’s questions have Katniss questioning herself, and when Peeta gets back from the bathroom, she jumps up to get more shots to calm her nerves. He eyes her strangely, but he takes the shot she shoves at him like a champ.

After the third shot, she starts to feel a little fuzzy. The events of the night become hazy, and when she starts to nod off in the car on the ride home, she welcomes the cop-out so she doesn’t have to psych herself out and worry about what Annie said. Peeta has to nudge her awake when they’re back at the hotel.

He leads her to the elevator, but she’s adamant about standing on her own, clinging to the railing. Once they’re in their room, she strips off her coat and collapses on her bed, face-down, while Peeta uses the bathroom. She tells herself she’ll brush her teeth after he’s done, but by the time he comes back out, she’s already drifting off to sleep.

* * *

When she awakes the next morning, her face is half-buried in her pillow, the comforter tucked up around her shoulders. She blinks her crusty eyes open and squints blearily until she registers her surroundings. Sunlight filters through the crack in the balcony curtains.

The bathroom door opens abruptly, and Katniss groans, pushing herself up on her elbows. Her gaze drops to the trashcan next to her bed. She immediately looks up when Peeta walks into the room, fresh out of a shower, fully dressed.

“Okay, I know I wasn’t _that_ bad last night,” she says when he notices she’s awake. She cringes at the stale, sour taste of her mouth.

Peeta laughs huskily, opening his bag at the foot of his bed to shove some dirty clothes inside. “No. But I wasn’t taking any chances.” He zips up his bag. “We gotta leave in about thirty minutes.” She takes in his jeans and gray henley. His hair is towel-dried and unruly. “Do you need to shower?” he asks.

“If we’re going to be stuck in a van for five hours, yeah, I probably should, for your sake and Haymitch’s.”

He flashes a lopsided smile as she stands from the bed. It’s not until then that she realizes she’s still in her clothes from last night, her black skinny pants and chambray button-down. But her boots are stacked neatly against the wall. Peeta must have taken them off for her and tucked her in, leaving her in her clothes. She tries not to blush. She feels too awkward to thank him, so she starts to shuffle into the bathroom but makes herself stop. That’s always been part of the problem, hasn’t it? She’s too damn stubborn for her own good.

With a deep breath, she turns back to him and forces out, “Thank you.” He looks up at her, and she gestures to her boots. “For...taking care of me.” He shrugs modestly, and she rushes to add, “Even though I was totally not that drunk.”

His lips shift into a smirk. “Sure, Everdeen.”

Rolling her eyes, she retreats into the bathroom. It doesn’t hit her until she’s standing under the hot spray of the shower that she missed their first night of sleep in the same room again. Sure, she slept all the way through the night, but she didn't even get to appreciate it. She’s oddly disappointed.

* * *

The van ambles down the road treacherously as snow streaks past the windows, and even though Haymitch is going slow, Katniss’ stomach vaults into her throat with every unsteady sway or bump of the vehicle or anytime a car passes them going the opposite direction. The heat’s on blast, but she’s broken out in a cold sweat.

Her hands are clammy, and she grips the edge of the vinyl seat under her thighs. She wants to look away from the window, tuck her head between her knees to try to get her breathing and heart rate under control, but she’s scared if she turns away, she’ll miss any impending danger.

Haymitch curses under his breath up front as he glares out the windshield, and he pumps the brakes when they hit a slippery patch of snow. Katniss swallows the bile rising in her throat, trying to sink down into the seat, her breaths shallow.

They’re not going to crash, she tries to reassure herself. Haymitch has it under control. Even if there are snow drifts three feet high on the side of road. Even if this stretch of road hasn’t really been cleared by a snow plow yet. They’re not going to crash.

With the mantra in her head, she squeezes her eyes shut and expands her lungs for a deep breath. Her chest and diaphragm feel too tight, like the seat belt is strangling her, but she doesn't dare take it off.

Distantly, she can hear Haymitch and Peeta talking about the weather, the distance to the hotel, and she tries to block it out until she becomes aware of the van slowing to a stop. Her eyes fly open, and she realizes Haymitch has pulled over at a gas station on the side of the road.

“Gonna get some snacks and have a cigarette,” Haymitch grunts, cutting off the engine. “Want anything?”

“Bottle of water,” Peeta asks. Katniss doesn’t respond, her pulse racing even though they’re temporarily stopped. Haymitch gets out of the van, and when he slams the door shut, silence fills the space until Peeta twists back in his seat to look at her.

His eyebrows shoot up. “Are you okay?” Alarm laces his voice, and he’s immediately unbuckling his seat belt.

She smiles weakly, struggling to sit up straighter in her seat. “Just a mild panic attack, I think. I’m fine,” she protests, embarrassed. He climbs into the back anyway, plopping down beside her.

“You look kind of pale,” he says carefully, studying her. “Your dad?”

She looks back out the window, the flakes looking bigger in the van’s current state of rest but not quite as blinding. She takes a deep breath, already feeling ridiculous for freaking out like this, and when she releases it, the words start spilling out.

“It’s dumb. I always get a little weird when I have to drive in the snow. But, you know, I just haven’t had to in a while. It doesn’t snow this heavily that much back home, not anymore at least. And I avoided it when I could. I wouldn’t let anyone else drive me either. I just haven’t been on the road when it was snowing this bad since...that day.”

She swallows, at a loss now that she word-vomited everything.

Peeta nods slowly. “That’s completely understandable.” He hesitates before he reaches for her hand, delicately prying her clawlike fingers from the seat, and he enfolds it in his own. She nearly withers as his warm skin engulfs hers. His hand is slightly callused from his guitar strings. “It’s going to be okay. Haymitch does this all the time. He knows how to handle the snow. He put snow tires on.”

She looks at him, her mouth turning down. “Yeah?” she asks, and he nods.

“I saw him change them back in December actually. When we were Pennsylvania. Right after the first snowfall there.”

She thinks back to then and nods slowly. “Yeah. I remember. I mean, the snow. It was just flurries then.”

Peeta squeezes her hand. “We’ll be fine.”

She still feels shaky, but his warmth at her side is comforting, a balm soothing the coldness that’s been trickling into her stomach for the last 30 minutes or so, when the snow first started picking up.

The driver’s side door opens, letting in a gust of frigid wind as Haymitch climbs back in. Cigarette smoke clings to him, and he peers around the seat to look at them. “Everything okay?” he asks, eyeing her specifically as Peeta takes the proffered water bottle from his hand.

“Yeah, we’re good,” Peeta replies, and she almost cries out loud in protest when he releases her hand. But he just cracks the bottle open and offers it to her. Gratefully, she takes it from him and sips gingerly. The water immediately quenches the parchness in her mouth. She hadn’t realized how dry her tongue and throat felt, and she takes another large gulp before returning it to him.

“Thanks,” she whispers. He just nods and screws the cap back on, dropping it on the seat beside him.

The engine starts back up, and when Haymitch inches the van forward, Katniss sucks in a breath, willing the anxiety away. Her hand unwittingly grapples for Peeta’s, and she clings to him.

“Sometimes it used to snow a lot when I lived in Seattle,” he says, and she looks up at him distractedly.

“Oh?”

“Not so much the past few years or so. And not that often.” His thumb starts stroking her knuckles, back and forth, and the sensation makes her stomach tighten, splintering her attention between the snow and his touch. “I used to hate it because if it snowed really badly, they canceled school.”

“What? But—every kid loves that.”

He smiles wryly. “I hated being stuck in our house,” he says, and at that, she understands. He continues, “It snowed on Christmas day once. When I was 8, I think. Not a lot, but that was really cool.”

She watches him as he talks, recounting stories. Periodically, she glances out the window, becoming cognizant of the snow, but his voice keeps pulling her attention back. She realizes what he’s doing, and she’s beyond grateful, her body gradually relaxing into the seat, her nerves unwinding with each gentle stroke of his thumb and his soothing, melodic words. They spend the rest of the drive to the hotel swapping nostalgic childhood stories.

* * *

When they head to the next stop on the tour the following day, it’s snowing a little again, but she’s mostly distracted from her anxiety when Peeta starts up a time-wasting game of Harmon Killebrew that somehow drags on for nearly the duration of the ride. Which is funny, because he sucks at it. Katniss doesn’t do too bad at the game, but, surprisingly, Haymitch is a bottomless vault of celebrity names.

They arrive in the next city early, and their show isn’t until the following day, so the three of them grab something to eat at a local dive then wander downtown to explore the shops. Afterward, Haymitch retreats to his hotel room, and Katniss and Peeta head up to The Peacekeepers’ suites to hang out with their tour mates. This time they’re in Cato and Thresh’s suite, and when they arrive, a lowkey party is already underway: it’s mostly stagehands and roadies. There appears to be only a minimal number of groupies this time, at least.

They greet the people they pass on the way through the room, and she offers to get Peeta a beer from the kitchen when she goes to get one for herself as he heads for Finnick. Detouring into the kitchen, she finds Darius mixing a drink with vodka and tonic water.

She gives him a smile as she pilfers a couple Yuenglings from the cooler. “Hey.”

He looks sideways and flashes her a grin, looping her into a side hug as his other hand vigorously shakes the metal shaker. “Hey. Lookin’ good,” he says, releasing her to strain his drink into a cup. She glances down at her baggy knit sweater, jeans and boots.

“Thanks,” she replies, struggling for another suitably not awkward response. Darius has been cool with her since they got back on tour, but she still struggles with proper post one-night-stand hookup etiquette, not sure how flirty she should be in response to his harmless comments or compliments. “What are you making?” she asks instead, rolling her eyes at the obvious.

“Vodka tonic,” he grins at her before taking a sip of his finished drink. He leans his hip against the kitchen counter and turns to face her fully. “Want me to make you one?”

“Maybe later.” She waves her beer bottles at him. “Got a bottle opener?”

He fumbles around on the counter until he locates it under a towel and hands it to her. She smiles her gratitude and pops the caps off her and Peeta’s beers. Someone lumbers into the kitchen behind her, and she looks up at Cato’s hulking form.

He rubs at his nose and gives her a glassy look before glancing over at Darius. He nods at his band mate and then looks back at Katniss, recognition finally dawning in his bloodshot eyes. Like he didn’t realize who she was right away. She frowns slightly.

“Hey,” he says, popping open the lid on the cooler to search for a beer. After he grabs a bottle, he squints at her critically. Then he grins and pulls at the neckline of her sweater. “This is like 10 times too big for you. You look like a kid playing dress up.”

She can’t fight her scowl, doesn’t even try to as she snatches her sweater out of his grasp. She’s never liked Cato, so she doesn’t try to play nice with him now. “Don’t touch my clothes. I don’t know where your hands have been.”

He wriggles his fingers in her face, and she swats them away, growing increasingly agitated. He looks sweaty, his hair matted to his forehead. “Ask the redhead over there,” he boasts, nodding his head at some woman on the arm of the couch tugging at her short leather skirt.

“If I had to talk to every one of your conquests this tour, I’d never get to enjoy myself at these parties,” she retorts. As she moves around him, he laughs and calls after her.

“You should wear that dress you wore on that New Year’s show.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Your body was banging.”

She doesn’t respond this time, just grits her teeth. Somehow, Caesar Flickerman’s come-on made her skin crawl less than Cato’s comment. She hears Darius scold him as she walks away, “Knock it off, dude,” but she misses the rest of their conversation.

She stalks over to where Peeta and Finnick are hanging out with the stagehand, Thom. Katniss hands Peeta his beer. “Thanks,” he says, taking a sip as she leans over to hug Finnick and nod at Thom. Then she takes a huge gulp of her beer to rinse away her obnoxious interaction with Cato. She’s had plenty of experience ignoring him, and as she joins the conversation, she quickly puts him in the back of her mind.

It takes her a few minutes to pick up the thread of conversation, but soon she’s laughing along with them. Annie joins them at some point, drunkenly winding her arms around her husband’s waist. Eventually, Darius and Cato join the conversation too, and by then Katniss is three-fourths of her way through her beer, so she’s not too bothered by the latter’s presence now.

“Yo, do you think we should invite the girl from the front desk up? She had a nice set of tits,” Cato says, signaling generously to his own chest for emphasis.

With that, Katniss drains the rest of her drink. “Need another one?” she asks Peeta, her voice flat. He gives her a commiserating look.

“Please,” he says under his breath, the word heavily stressed.

Darius gestures to her, a pleading, puppy-dog look on his face. “Can you grab me a Coors too?”

She nods and turns to the kitchen, but Cato calls after her, “Get me one too.”

Like hell. When she returns with only three beers, she pointedly ignores Cato as she hands one to Peeta and Darius each. Cato frowns. “What the hell?”

She looks at him innocently, cocking her hip, holding on to the remaining beer in her hand. “What, did you want something?”

He glowers, but a smirk eventually spreads across his face. “Don’t worry about it, babe. I’ve got my own beer wench,” he says, waving over the redhead from earlier. Katniss bristles at his slur, mouth tightening. The redhead prances over, starry-eyed. “Get me a beer, will ya, sweetcheeks?” He slaps her ass as she walks away and chuckles at the simpering look she gives him, rubbing his nose and sniffing.

“Jesus,” Peeta mutters, drinking his beer, but everyone around them keeps talking like nothing’s amiss. Katniss is quickly losing her cool. She’s used to being surrounded by the rampant sexism of tour life at this point, or thought she was, anyway, but right now her tolerance is quickly evaporating.

The redhead returns with a bottle, and Cato takes it from her before dismissing her, barely looking at her again. The woman looks crushed but dutifully leaves to sit back on the couch to talk to the roadies who are looking to scavenge Cato’s leftovers.

Katniss just feels sick. She sets her beer down on a nearby table. “I think I’m done. I’m gonna go back to the room,” she announces quietly, mostly to Peeta, who raises his eyebrows. He pulls his phone out to check the time. She knows it can’t be much later than 11, but she can’t be here anymore.

“I’ll come with you. I’m pretty tired,” he says, and she’s grateful he’s not that interested in this scene, either. He puts his unfinished beer down with hers, and they say their goodbyes to the others. Cato shoots them a leering look

“Both of you, huh?” He snorts. “Are you just making your rounds through everyone on this tour, Everdeen?”

Her face burns, and she can’t bite back her retort. “You’re definitely not on that list, so don’t worry,” she says coolly, turning on her heel to leave, but Cato isn’t done yet.

“I wonder if your sister puts out as easily as you do. Maybe I’ll give her call—”

Her simmering anger ignites instantly. Spinning around, she lunges at him. Her fist flies out so fast she doesn’t even realize she’s punched him until pain lances through her knuckles and fingers. There’s a wet crack as her fist makes contact with his nose, echoed by Cato’s grunt. Everyone’s already scrambling before she can yank her arm back, cries of surprise erupting around the room.

“Don’t you _ever_ talk about my sister like that again, you asshole!” she yells, incensed. Peeta steps in front of her immediately, his hand on her arm, while the other guys swarm Cato, who’s cupping his nose. But his blue eyes flash murderously, his face red, and he jerks against the hands holding him back.

“You fucking _bitch—_ ”

Peeta’s in his face then, arm braced on his chest to push him back. “Hey. Talk to her like that again, and I’ll fucking destroy you,” he threatens lowly. His voice holds an edge of danger that gives Katniss pause. He glances back at her, his jaw tense, and the flash of anger she sees recedes slightly, accompanied by amusement as he looks back at Cato. “Or maybe I’ll just let her finish you.”

Cato bares his teeth, blood trickling from his nostril, down over his thin lips, but Thresh and Finnick tighten their grip on his shoulders and pull him back even farther. Finnick flashes Peeta and Katniss a pleading look.

“You two should go. We’ve got this,” he says, apologetic. Peeta steps away from Cato and grabs Katniss’ arm, turning away to guide her out of the suite. She hears Cato mutter _bitch_ one more time behind her before The Peacekeepers devolve into an argument among themselves.

It’s not until they’re in the hallway that she realizes she’s shaking. The adrenaline hits her all at once. Her anger surges back even stronger. “What a fucking asshole!” she seethes, and Peeta turns to face her at the elevator after slapping the button.

“Are you okay?”

She blinks at him, confused, but as soon as he asks the question, she becomes aware of the throbbing in her right hand. She lifts it up to look at, bending her knuckles, and she hisses in pain.

“He has a hard face,” she mutters, her knuckles already red. Peeta grabs her hand gingerly to examine the damage.

“Let’s get you some ice.”

Frowning, she shakes him off, unnerved by his level of concern. “I don’t need your help. I’m fine.”

Surprise crosses his face, quickly erased by annoyed resignation. “I thought we were done with this,” he says wearily, running a hand through his hair. She quickly deflates, realizing she’s directing her annoyance at the wrong person. Putting up walls she’d already destroyed.

“I'm sorry. I’m a little shaken,” she says, looking away. She cradles her hand to her chest. He studies her and nods after a moment as the elevator doors open.

“Let’s go back to the room. I think there’s an ice dispenser on our floor.”

They take the elevator to their floor, and Peeta lets them into their room, grabbing the ice bucket before he ducks back into the hallway. Unsure what to do, Katniss wanders into the bathroom to look at her hand in the brighter lights. Her knuckles are really starting to throb now, and she bites down on her lip. She didn’t realize she’d hit him that hard, but a surge of satisfaction warms her when she thinks about the blood she drew.

“Asshole,” she mutters. The room door pops back open, and Peeta reappears, a full ice bucket in hand. She steps back from the sink as he grabs a clean hotel washcloth and dampens it a little before scooping a handful of ice cubes into the middle of it. Bundling it up, he turns to her and holds out his hand. She gives him hers, and he grasps it carefully as he presses the makeshift ice pack to her knuckles. She inhales through her clenched teeth, fighting the urge to jerk her hand away, and he gives her an apologetic look.

“If you can bend your fingers, I don’t think you broke it.”

She snorts. “I know how to throw a punch.”

He smiles slightly at that. “That was a nice hook. I don’t think anyone was expecting that.”

“Me neither, honestly.” She takes a tremulous breath. “I’ve never actually punched anybody in my life. But god, he deserved it.”

He chuckles, releasing her hands to fold his arms over his chest, leaning against the counter. “I’m kind of surprised you haven’t punched _me_ before this point.”

She holds the ice pack on her hand herself. “You might be surprised, but I’m not exactly prone to violence."

"Flying shoes notwithstanding."

She rolls her eyes. "Also, you are nowhere near as disgusting or as dickish as Cato.”

“High praise,” he says wryly, still smiling at her.

Katniss takes the ice pack off her hand when the cold becomes too much and cautiously bends her fingers, wincing slightly. She puts the ice back and looks at Peeta, the severity of the moment starting to dawn on her. “Fuck. I actually hit a Peacekeeper, didn’t I?” He nods, and she drops her head back. “ _Fuck_. That was so stupid—we’re gonna get kicked off the tour, aren’t we?”

“We’re not going to get kicked off the tour.”

She tips her chin down to look at him, her eyes wide. “I just attacked one of the headliners!”

“The other guys aren’t going to rat you out,” Peeta says, shaking his head.

“But Cato will! He hates me, even more so now!”

Peeta gives her a look. “Cato probably won’t even remember by tomorrow.”

She frowns, confused. “What do you mean?”

Peeta’s forehead wrinkles as his eyebrows lift. “He was high on coke, Katniss.”

“What?” she asks, mouth falling open. "How do you know?"

Peeta shifts, looking uncomfortable, and he tunnels a hand through his hair. He lifts a shoulder. “I could just tell.”

“How?” she asks, furrowing her brows. She thought he looked off, but—coke? She tries to think back to her interactions with him, but she’s never seen him doing coke. She wouldn’t even begin to know how to tell what Cato’s snorting up his nose or injecting into his veins.

Peeta’s quiet as her mind reels, and finally he clears his throat, uncrossing his arms. He scratches at his jaw. “I could tell because I’ve been there,” he says reluctantly, and she stares at him.

“You’ve—what?” she asks, her eyes growing wide with realization. “Wait, you’ve done coke?”

He releases a harsh breath, not meeting her gaze. “Yeah.”

“You did coke with Cato?”

“ _No_ , christ, I wouldn’t—I haven’t touched the stuff in a long time,” he says, agitated.

“When?” she presses, her grasp on what he’s telling her tenuous.

“College.”

“ _College_?” Her voice grows thin. “Like—once, twice? What do you mean?”

His sigh is ragged, and he digs his thumb and forefinger into his eyes, rubbing roughly. “Not quite. It was...a little more often than that.”

She clutches the ice pack to her hand and her stomach, oblivious to the chilling wetness seeping through her shirt. “I—I can’t...I don’t understand.”

He finally lifts his eyes to her, his gaze snapping fierily. “What's not to understand? It's pretty simple. I did coke when I was in college. I was so coked out the first semester of my sophomore year, I got kicked off the wrestling team and lost my scholarship. I told you I was a fuck up, didn’t I?” His face flushes red as he talks, his voice growing angrier. At her silence, his mouth twists into a sneer, and his words drip with sarcasm. “What, does that ruin the already wonderful opinion you had of me?”

She just stares at him, mute and wide-eyed, and with a huff, he pushes off the counter and stalks out of the bathroom, hands in his hair.

Katniss stands there for a while, absorbing his words, processing his confession, until her skin starts to burn from the ice. Biting her lip, she drops the ice pack in the sink and dries her hand off on a fresh towel. Then she lifts her gaze to her reflection and takes a steadying breath.

She’s stunned, but...under the shock, she realizes the feeling taking root there isn’t disappointment or disgust or whatever he’s thinking. It’s relief.

So many things about Peeta make _sense_ now.

Licking her lips, she marches out of the bathroom. Peeta sits on the edge of his bed, head slumped over his lap, hands pulling at his hair. She gives him a onceover before turning to the minibar and jerking the door open. She bends over and grabs airplane bottles indiscriminately: vodka, tequila, rum, wine. It all sounds good right now.

Wheeling around, she slams the minibar shut with her foot and throws a bottle onto the bed beside Peeta. He lifts his head, his face drawn, eyes dragging from the bottle to her. “What are you doing?”

“I think we should get really trashed. We both could use it right now,” she announces, dropping the other bottles on her bed. She takes one for herself, the tequila, and cracks the lid open forcefully.

“Haymitch told us never to touch the minibar,” he says warily, watching her. Katniss shrugs.

“Here’s to Plutarch and District Thirteen then, huh?” she cheers, holding her bottle in his direction. He studies her, trying to gauge her thought process, before he sighs and opens his own bottle, holding it out to her.

“To Plutarch and District Thirteen,” he echoes, and they both drain their respective bottles.

Katniss cringes after she’s swallowed all of hers, the tequila burning her tongue. “Blech,” she blanches, and Peeta offers a sympathetic wince. Dispensing two more bottles, Katniss leads him in another shot, but Peeta gives the cheers.

“To putting sexist assholes in their place,” he says, and she has to fight back her prideful smile with a mouthful of liquor. This time, the vodka doesn’t taste quite as offensive as the tequila did.

Plopping down on her bed opposite Peeta, she leans toward him, making sure he’s looking at her. “Peeta. Tell me what happened.” At his reticence, she adds, “I’m not judging you. I just want to know. If you want to tell me.”

His look is dubious, but he sighs, lifting his face to the ceiling. His hands rub back and forth over his thighs, a nervous tell. After a moment, he looks back at her, resigned. “Well...I had a full ride to college on a wrestling scholarship. I was a standout athlete on my school’s team. We even won a championship my first year. But by my sophomore year, I was hanging out with some really shady people. And...I started doing coke.” He pauses and wets his lips. “Not much at first. Just bumps here and there at parties. Then when I had a paper to write, or an exam to study for. When I needed to pull an all-nighter. When I needed to make weight at the weekly weigh-in. I just felt like...there was so much pressure on me, and I was so scared of fucking up, between school and wrestling. My parents’ expectations. I just got in over my head.

“Suddenly, it was like I was doing it all the time. My school work suffered. I started missing practices or losing matches because I was so hungover or strung-out. Finally, the coach had no choice but to kick me off the team. I lost my scholarship. And my grades were so bad by the end of the semester, I got put on probation.”

“Oh,” she breathes, sitting back slightly. “So what happened then?”

Peeta looks forlorn. “I went back home at the end of the semester. My parents were pretty pissed off, to say the least. They were devastated, actually. I took the next semester off to clean up my act and work at the bakery, try to get my head on straight. My parents were willing to help me pay for my last two years at college but told me if I ever touched the stuff again, I was on my own.” He rubs at his bottom lip absently, eyes distant. “I went back for my junior year, had to take summer classes to make up what I missed in the spring. But...things were different by then. I was clean, but I didn’t have wrestling. My old teammates hated me. I couldn’t hang out with my old friends anymore because they were cokeheads or caught up in worst stuff.

“Luckily, that meant I had nothing to do but study all the time and get my grades back up. But...it was hard. For a while. I was pretty depressed my junior year. Thought about dropping out a lot, but I knew my parents would be even more disappointed. _I’d_ be even more disappointed in myself.”

“So...that’s why your parents...” she trails off, not sure how to finish, but he nods, his eyes tired.

“Yeah. They’ve never forgiven me. I get it. I really fucked up, and that fucked up things for them, too. They’re in worse debt because they had to pay for my schooling, and they hadn’t planned for that. They wanted something else for me, to become some star athlete, or eventually take over the bakery. But instead of getting a business degree, I got a creative writing degree and started playing music.” His smile is humorless. “I’ve let them down in every way, basically.”

She frowns. “I mean, I guess I understand why they were upset _then_ , but that’s not you anymore.” She can’t even reconcile the person he’s telling her about with the man sitting in front of her. “You’ve gotten your life together. Maybe it’s not what they wanted, but you’re doing something amazing.”

He shrugs despondently. “I’m sure in their minds, becoming a musician, being surrounded by the rock 'n' roll atmosphere, isn’t the smartest idea for someone trying to stay off drugs.” His mouth twists. “I know they’re just waiting to say, ‘I told you so.’ My mom especially gets off on that.”

Katniss sighs and looks around for more alcohol. Grabbing two more bottles, she gives him one and keeps one for herself. They take another shot, flashing mirroring faces of disgust afterward. Katniss stares down at the empty bottle before looking back at him.

“I don’t know how you do this, everyday,” she says, gesturing vaguely around them.

“Some days it’s really hard,” he admits solemnly. Sadness clogs her throat suddenly, tears pricking the back of her eyes when she remembers him on Christmas, everything he’d confessed then. She hadn’t understood the depths of his issues. How alone he must have felt, how isolated. And she’d just pushed him away. Guilt surges inside her, but she feels a newly budding respect for him, too.

“How did you get better?” she asks tentatively. “I mean, how did you get to where you are now. You seem pretty healthy and level-headed to me.”

He hesitates. “Well...when I said I started playing music, I mean that quite literally. I’d never played a guitar before that point, other than messing around on a friend’s or something. One day I just got it into my head to buy one off Craigslist. And I watched YouTube videos and messed around until I knew all the notes. Started off seeing if I could teach myself songs I liked. I found some new friends to hang out with, and we would jam in someone’s apartment. Compose original songs. I found something I was good at again. That helped.”

“I kind of hate you for being as good as you are, and you’ve literally only been playing music for a couple years,” she says. His smile is small but genuine, at least. A random thought strikes her then. “So—is that when you started dating Glimmer?”

He looks startled. “How did you know?”

She freezes, realizing they’ve never talked about this. This was something Glimmer told her months ago, when Katniss first met her at The Mine. Nervously, Katniss begins picking at her cuticles, eyes cast down. “Oh, um. She told me, actually. About how you guys met. That she was dating someone else when she met you, and then you two started hooking up.” She risks a glance up. He looks confused, so she adds meekly with a shrug, “Or whatever. I don’t know.”

With a sigh, Peeta rubs his eyes. “That’s not quite—you make it sound like there was overlap or something.”

“Well, she was dating your friend when she met you, wasn’t she?”

“Okay, no wonder you think so poorly of me,” he says with a shake of his head, a frustrated edge to his voice. She opens her mouth to object, but he continues, “He was hardly a friend. Someone I knew, yes. One of the guys I jammed with, but I never considered him a friend. He was a friend of the musicians I’d started hanging out with, but he was kind of an asshole, so I kept my distance. Glimmer was dating him, so she would come around to listen to us. I thought she was pretty, but she was with someone, so she was just kind of off-limits, in my head. I’d talk to her when she talked to me, but I never tried anything. That was it. I didn’t really think much of it honestly until she stopped hanging out with that guy and stopped coming around. Then she started talking to me on Facebook, and we hit it off.” He shrugs. “She was sweet and fun to be around. I was still in a pretty bad place, still trying to find my footing after everything. It was nice having her around. We started hanging out, and then eventually we started dating.”

The stab of jealousy she feels at hearing him talk about his ex-girlfriend is irrational and ridiculous, and she tries to swallow it down. Tries to shrug nonchalantly. “It’s really none of my business,” she mumbles, looking around the room. “I don’t know why I brought it up.”

“Katniss,” he falters before continuing, “I’ll always be grateful for Glimmer’s presence at that time in my life. She helped me. She was important to me. I still care about her a lot, but...” He scratches at his jaw. “Things change.”

Her heart is beating at a confusingly rapid pace. She doesn’t know why. With a swallow, she nods but grabs the remaining bottles. Her head goes sideways a little, the two rapid-succession shots already taking effect. “Well, all we’ve got left is wine,” she announces, a little too loudly, and throws him two. He catches them, just barely.

“Okay,” he says slowly and opens his as she opens hers.

Katniss hesitates before offering another cheers. “Here’s to...changes.”

His eyes narrow a fraction before he smiles at her, just barely, lifting his bottle. “Here’s to changes, and new beginnings.”

Her smile flits across her face, and then they drink.

* * *

Opening her eyes is an effort, and she scrunches her face with distaste as she pries her sleep-crusted lids apart. Her head is muzzy, but she becomes aware of the hard surface under her cheek. And it seems to be moving, lifting her head and lowering it, in steady, rhythmic measures.

Her surroundings register then. She recognizes their hotel room, of course, but she’s staring at her own empty bed. Confusion wars with understanding until the previous night’s events finally hit her.

If she’s not in her bed, then she must be looking at her bed—from Peeta’s bed.

And that means the warm, solid mass under her cheek, pressed against her side, is Peeta.

Strangely, she doesn’t panic. She doesn’t react for a moment, doesn’t move, just letting the realization settle over her, warmth and contentment infusing her bones, spreading through her limbs. It’s like getting back something she hadn’t realized she was missing; waking up beside him Christmas day had felt like such a small gift, one she’d never expected to receive again. And yet, here she is.

Finally, she tilts her head up and back, back until she can see his face, just the underside of his jaw, without lifting her cheek from his chest. He’s on his back, one arm draped over his eyes as he sleeps. The other is wrapped around her waist, she realizes, holding her against him.

He moves suddenly, lifting his elbow to squint down at her. “Hey,” he murmurs.

His unexpected gaze freezes her momentarily, until her embarrassment seizes her, forcing her previously relaxed limbs into motion. She hadn’t realized he was awake. She tries to scramble into a sitting position, pushing up off his chest. But his arm only loosens around her, not releasing her entirely, and she can’t launch herself away from him without making it obvious. So she’s stuck hovering over him, her leg still hooked over his.

“Oh—hey—I didn’t mean to...I guess I fell asleep,” she says sheepishly, her face flaming. She remembers going shot for shot with him last night, and then after their heart-to-heart, they kept drinking, ordering more alcohol from room service once they’d polished off everything from the minibar. And then, everything is kind of blank. “Sorry.”

He shrugs, letting his arm over his face slip down to the bed. That’s when his other arm finally drops to the bed too, freeing her. “S’okay. I don’t exactly remember falling asleep either.”

Katniss sits up fully, self-consciously pushing her tangled hair back from her face. Then she surveys the damage, eyes widening when she sees all the empty bottles littering the floor and other surfaces of the room. “Oh god. Did we really drink two bottles of champagne?”

Peeta grimaces, rubbing the heel of his palm against his eye. “Guess so. I remember you invited the guy who brought it up inside to join us. I think he thought we were swingers.”

Her head whips around in horror, and she stares at him, wide-eyed. “Oh my god.” She’s almost afraid to ask. “I didn’t proposition him, did I?”

He huffs with laughter, an amused but sleepy chuckle. “No, I think he just really misunderstood your offer of a nightcap.”

A stunned beat passes, then she bursts out laughing, hiding her red face. “I kind of remember that now. Wasn’t he, like, really old?” She has a hazy memory of white hair and rheumy eyes.

“Extremely. I think he’d thought he’d hit the jackpot. I had to politely shoo him away,” he says as he sits up too. She has to scoot back some so they don’t knock heads. And she’s incredibly too aware of her sour, boozy morning breath. She looks down. At least she kept her clothes on before falling into his bed and snuggling up to him.

She blushes again, dragging her slitted eyes around the room. They snag on the clock. It’s almost noon. She wonders how late they stayed up. She kind of remembers crawling into his bed with him, talking and laughing about stupid things. A murky, distant memory of resting her head on his shoulder. His hand playing with her hair.

“How’s your hand?”

His question jars her out of her recollection. The events from earlier in the night come back to her then, and she almost groans out loud. She punched Cato. How big of an idiot is she?

She lifts her right hand up to examine it, flexing her fingers into a fist. It’s sore, and her lips twist unpleasantly at the mild pain that radiates from her knuckles. “I’ll be fine. How mad do you think everyone will be at me today?”

“For doing what everyone else has probably been wanting to do all tour?” Peeta sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He stretches his arms over his head with a yawn as he stands, and her eyes snag on the sliver of skin revealed just above the waist of his pants, the firm abs, the smattering of dark blond hair that frames his navel. But the shirt drops back in place when he lowers his arms, and she blinks, averting her gaze. Giving herself a mental shake.

“They seemed to rally around him last night...” she says uncertainly, remembering how Finnick told them to leave.

“You know, somehow I don’t think this is the first fist fight Cato’s gotten into over the years. Maybe the first with a woman, though. I doubt he’ll want to be reminded of it, so I wouldn’t worry too much. Honestly.”

She’s not so sure she shares his optimism.

He goes to take a shower, and she just lies down on his bed again, snuggling back into the warm impression left by his body. Until he comes back out, and then she’s already out of bed, pretending like she wasn’t just smelling his pillow.

* * *

When they get to the venue for soundcheck later, Katniss is dreading confronting The Peacekeepers, but once she’s in the green room, she realizes Peeta is right. When she walks in, no one says anything to her about the night before, no one corners her to scold her or even casts her a sidelong look. Cato only glowers at her but otherwise ignores her, the light bruising under his eyes the only tacit acknowledgment of their altercation. She almost feels bad—almost, but then she just remembers what he insinuated about her sister, and she doesn’t regret standing up to him.

No one must have informed on her to Haymitch, either, since he didn’t bring it up in the ride over to the venue. He just scrutinizes Cato and directs a look Katniss’ way, arching an eyebrow in question. “That your doing?” She merely shrugs, trying to appear indifferent. Haymitch grunts and shakes his head, but that’s all he says before he walks away.

Finnick comes over to hug her, winking when he releases her. She’s relieved he’s not mad. At one point, while she’s munching on a turkey and cream cheese roll-up, Darius approaches her. His smile is tentative as he grabs a water from the cooler.

“Hey, what’s up?” he greets. She shakes her head, her mouth full of food, and he runs a hand through his hair, leaning closer. “Um, about last night—I hope you don’t think I, like, bragged to Cato or anything like that. About us. I never told him anything, I swear. I wouldn’t do that.”

Her eyes widened, heat infusing her cheeks. She swallows her mouthful of turkey and cream cheese hard. “Oh. No. I didn’t.”

He looks relieved. “Okay. Good. I’m sorry he’s such a dickhead.” He smiles again and holds his hand up for a congratulatory fist bump. “Between you and me, he deserved it.”

She taps her non-injured fist to his and smiles slightly, watching him as he turns away and yells something to Thresh, ambling away. She tears her eyes away and looks around the green room; she doesn’t realize she’s looking for Peeta until she finds him. He’s across the room, looking at her. She wonders if he was watching her and Darius. But as soon as they make eye contact, he looks away.

Katniss stuffs another turkey roll-up in her mouth.

* * *

“I don’t understand. We’re musicians on a country-wide tour, but we’re gonna do karaoke at a hole-in-the-wall bar?”

Katniss is incredulous as she and Peeta follow the four Peacekeepers plus Annie down the sidewalk, careful not to slip on icy patches of snow.

“It’s tradition!” Finnick crows, swinging around to tug on her braid. She bats him away and burrows down into her coat for warmth. “And since you two are newbies, we have to initiate you.”

Annie slows down to fall in step with Katniss, latching onto her arm. “It’s fun, I swear. Every time we’re here on tour, the guys swing by this place to drink and do karaoke. This place is really chill, and they rarely have to deal with fans here. It’s just a way to let off steam and bond.”

Katniss makes eye contact with Peeta over Annie’s head, and he just raises an eyebrow, seemingly reading her doubts. She’s not sure she’s interested in _bonding,_  at least not with Cato, not after everything. He’s still been pretty cold toward her since she punched him in the face. Not that she can really blame him.

But if it’s a way to move past this, to smooth any lingering bumps between her and the band, she supposes she can go along with the night’s plans. A large part of her is relieved to be deviating from their usual after-show activities of going to clubs or getting shitfaced in hotel rooms, at least.

After a few minutes of trekking, they arrive at their destination: Sae’s. As they walk inside, Katniss is surprised. It’s the complete antithesis of the normal places they hang out. It reminds her more of The Mine than anything; a few booths and tables scattered around the small, open room; old, half-torn and faded band posters papering the walls; a bar against the left side where a few barflies sit as a middle-aged woman serves them beers and shots; and a small stage up front where a guy is absolutely butchering “Free Bird” at the moment.

A reflexive smile spreads across Katniss’ face, and she relaxes. Maybe this will be more fun than she originally thought.

The seven of them pull two tables together off to the side, close to the bar, and crowd around it. Katniss shrugs out of her heavy coat and settles on a stool in between Annie and Peeta. The bar is a little stuffy, but it feels good on her cold hands and face.

She orders a Miller Lite when a server comes around, dropping off a thick book of karaoke songs for them to peruse. She seems to know The Peacekeepers personally because they greet her enthusiastically, and she smiles at them as she accepts hugs and cheek kisses from the guys.

Finnick must already know what he wants to sing because after ordering his drink, he hops up from the table and beelines for the emcee near the stage to scribble something on a sheet of paper and hand it to the old guy dictating the karaoke lineup.

“Don’t think you two are just going to kick back and watch,” Darius tells her and Peeta, shoving the book toward them with a mischievous grin. “Everyone is expected to embarrass themselves tonight.”

Stifling a groan, Katniss flips open the book to start scouring for her pick. Peeta leans closer to look with her. “What are you going to sing?” she asks him, glancing at him through her fringe of lashes. At that moment, a woman gets on stage to sing Adele’s “Hello.” Katniss winces. Already, it’s not good.

“No idea,” Peeta says. She can feel his breath on her cheek, but she doesn’t move away. “I’ve never actually done karaoke before.”

She looks up. “Really?”

He raises his eyebrows at her. “You have?”

“I thought everybody’s done karaoke at some point.”

He smiles. “Apparently not. You’re the last person I’d expect to do karaoke, actually.”

She narrows her eyes, flipping a page. “Why?”

He shrugs, running a hand through his hair. “When we first started performing, you absolutely hated getting on stage.”

She can’t deny that. The truth is, she hates doing karaoke. “Madge made me,” she admits. “Her 21st birthday. I had to get really hammered before I agreed to sing. I tripped as soon as I got off the stage. It was awful.”

He laughs. “Well, I’m sure the performance itself was good. And you haven’t tripped once this entire tour. I think you’ll be fine this time around.”

Hopefully. She can feel herself getting nervous already, her knee bouncing against the stool. She hasn’t gotten this kind of pre-show anxiety in a while, the Caesar Flickerman show notwithstanding. Probably because this is the first time she’ll be singing alone, at least in a while. She’s gotten used to having Peeta by her side when she’s on stage.

She can’t concentrate on the book, so she decides to go with a staple of her song repertoire, one she knows by heart: Fleetwood Mac’s “Dreams.” When she gets back from giving the emcee her name and song selection, her beer awaits, and she drinks it eagerly. Peeta’s still looking through the book for a song; it takes him a while to decide on something, though he won’t tell her his choice, just shakes his head mysteriously.

Finnick is the first of their group up to sing. She’s not sure what she’s expecting, but when the opening strains of Prince’s “Kiss” start, her mouth drops open. She had no idea he could sing so high.

When Finnick does an obscene body roll plus hip thrust combination, Katniss covers her eyes, and Peeta laughs beside her. Annie catcalls her husband while the other guys yell inappropriate words of encouragement. It’s not surprising the few women in the bar are suddenly all eyes on the stage, mouths open in astonishment, practically panting. Finnick’s not the lead singer of a rock band for nothing.

At the end of his performance, he bows dramatically to thunderous applause before pointing toward the ceiling. “Rest in peace, my man.”

Another bar patron takes the stage after him, probably to that man’s dismay—and everyone else’s, really—then Darius and Thresh perform a surprisingly well-rehearsed version of Salt-N-Pepa’s “Push It” that has everybody rolling. A couple women sing after them before Cato gets on stage to sing a surprisingly good cover of “Under the Bridge” by Red Hot Chili Peppers. He actually has a nice tone to his singing voice, even if he is a dickhead.

Finnick and Annie do a duet of “Islands in the Stream,” and then it’s Katniss’ turn. Even after watching the others, she’s still nervous. Once she’s on stage, she takes a deep breath and squints out into the bar. Her eyes connect with Peeta’s, and he smiles encouragingly.

The drum line kicks in, and she braces herself, closing her eyes as she leans into the mic to sing.

 _“Now here you go again_  
_You say, you want your freedom_ _  
Well, who am I to keep you down?”_

She warms up quickly, settling into the familiar melody of the song, swaying gently as she sings. She doesn’t need to double check the lyrics scrolling across the small TV screen off to her left. She grew up worshiping Stevie Nicks.

 _“Oh, thunder only happens when it’s raining_  
_Players only love you when they’re playing_  
_Say, women, they will come, and they will go_ _  
When the rain washes you clean, you’ll know...”_

She tries not to look directly at her tour mates, afraid they’ll distract her. While she knows The Peacekeepers have seen her perform, she’s never _witnessed_ them watching her sing, so the thought was less scary before she knew. But it’s impossible to keep her eyes from flitting to their group—and they appear to be loving it. Singing along, grooving in their seats; Thresh even has a lighter out. She can’t help but smile, her eyes seeking out Peeta.

He’s watching her, a faint smile on his face and as rapt as he was that one and only night in her apartment, when she sang for him for the first time. There’s something similar in his eyes now, and for some reason the realization floods her with an exciting thrill.

Once the song’s over, the bar erupts in cheers. With a flush, she smiles her thanks and quickly hops down from the stage. She high fives her tour mates as they offer their hands and settles back into her seat. When she looks over at Peeta, she finds him looking back at her. His smile lingers.

“That was incredible,” he says, leaning a little closer to be heard. “And, hey, you didn’t even fall.”

She rolls her eyes humorously, but she’s glad she’s already flushed, his compliment tinging her cheeks pink. “Thanks,” she tells him demurely, ordering another beer when the server appears at her side. Peeta is still staring at her when she looks back at him, and she grows self-conscious. “What?”

He shakes his head, and there’s awe in his voice when he answers. “I guess I just forgot what an experience it is to watch you sing.”

She’s sure she’s full-out blushing now, and she’s grateful for the diversion of the server as she drops off Katniss’ beer. More people get on stage to sing—good, bad, and _dear god make it stop_ awful _—_ but it’s fun to just be an observer and watch others sing for a change.

Finally, it’s Peeta’s turn. She didn’t realize how eager she is to see him sing until he stands up from his stool. She wants to tell him good luck, but he’s never needed it. He’s a born performer, made for pure adulation by the masses.

She watches him hop onto the stage with ease, the lights highlighting the pull of his thermal across his broad back. His hair glows a burnished gold. He bends over to casually talk to the emcee as the man cues up his song, then he steps up to the mic. With a quick smile at the audience, he wraps his hands around the mic and begins singing as soon as the song starts.

 _“My lover’s got humor_  
_She’s the giggle at a funeral_  
_Knows everybody’s disapproval_ _  
I should’ve worshiped her sooner_

 _“If the heavens ever did speak_  
_She’s the last true mouthpiece_  
_Every Sunday’s getting more bleak_ _  
Fresh poison each week_

 _“We were born sick_ _  
_ _You heard them say it_

 _“My church offers no absolutes_  
_She tells me, worship in the bedroom_  
_The only heaven I’ll be sent to_ _  
Is when I’m alone with you...”_

Katniss is subconsciously leaning toward him, increasingly enraptured as he sings. Good lord, this is sexy. Is this song meant to be sexy? His voice is a little deeper than the register he normally sings in when they’re performing together. Something about the words _lover_ and _worship_ and _bedroom_ rolling melodically off his tongue makes her clench her thighs together. She glances around the table, embarrassed, but everyone’s nodding along with the song, eyes on the stage. Gripping her beer bottle tightly in both hands, she resumes watching Peeta, her whole body heating with each lyric he belts out.

 _“Take me to church_  
_I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies_  
_I’ll tell you my sins, so you can sharpen your knife_  
_Offer me that deathless death_ _  
Good god, let me give you my life...”_

By the time he’s finished, she feels breathless. She’s startled out of her trance by raucous applause and manages a few half-hearted claps herself, feeling jittery when he makes his way back to his seat. Finnick and Thresh give him slaps on his back in congratulations. When Peeta slides onto his stool, she clears her throat and grabs the edge of her chair tightly.

“That was...good,” she says, catching his eye. It’s hard to hold his gaze though, so her eyes keep flitting from spot to spot—his mouth, her beer, the flimsy Bud Light cardboard coaster, the way his sleeve bunches around his shoulder, the way his long fingers tap against his beer bottle. His eyes are bright, a faint sheen of perspiration covering his forehead. He pushes his curls back from his forehead.

"Thanks."

“I haven’t watched you perform since that night we met,” she says suddenly. His eyebrows lift.

“Did I measure up?” he asks, his smile self-deprecatingly teasing.

She can’t tell him how she couldn’t keep her eyes off him that night. Like tonight. Her chest expands with a deep, steadying breath, and she bites her bottom lip. She glances at his face again and goes still when she sees that his gaze has fixed on her mouth. Her face goes hot, and she swallows, releasing her bottom lip and reflexively licking her lips. Peeta blinks and drags his eyes away, up to hers. The blue irises are darker than before, pupils wider.

Then he smiles, a strained gesture, something a little dangerous in the curve of his lips. He sits back in his seat, putting some distance between them, and brings his beer to his lips to drink. Her face warm, she averts her eyes and clears her throat, suddenly aware they’re not alone. In fact, there are five other people at their table. She takes a deep breath, followed by a greedy pull of her beer, and politely tunes in to the current stomach-curdling rendition of “All By Myself.” Thankfully, Thresh cleanses everyone’s palate with a performance of “Let’s Get It On” right after.

Except, the lyrics aren’t doing anything to extinguish the squirming mass of heat and lust in her belly, as she remembers the sensual timbre of Peeta’s voice as he sang. She can’t stop herself from glancing at him again, catching his eye before he looks away, back to the stage, coughing into his hand before sipping his own beer again.

Katniss shifts restlessly in her seat and grabs the song book, flipping idly through the pages before an idea pops into her head, her eyes snagging on one song in particular. She stares at the black text for a moment before smiling slowly, then she gets up to give the emcee her song choice.

Peeta’s eyes follow her back to the table, and she poises on the edge of her stool, too tense to relax as she watches the end of Thresh’s performance. Of course, he gets loud cheers and whistles when he’s done, and a woman even intercepts him on his way off the stage. After a flirty exchange of words, he pulls out his phone to take down her number.

As Katniss waits for her turn again, she drains the beer for liquid courage. But she realizes she’s not as nervous now, just anxious. Keyed up. Eager. Something has awakened inside her, and she’s so tired of trying to ignore it.

She has to sit through a few more performances before it’s her turn again. Calmly, more calmly than she feels, she strides toward the stage, head high, shoulders back. The feigned confidence helps; this time, she feels much more in control under everyone’s rapt attention. She waits for the song to start up and licks her lips, her eyes seeking out Peeta. He’s watching her intently, and when she begins to sing, her voice breathless and sultry, his eyebrows shoot up.

 _“I’m on my 14 carats_  
_I’m 14 carat_  
_Doing it up like Midas, mmm_  
_Now you say I got a touch_  
_So good, so good_  
_Make you never wanna leave_ _  
So don’t, so don’t_

 _“Gonna wear that dress you like, skin-tight_  
_Do my hair up real, real nice_  
_And syncopate my skin to your heart beating...”_

Her friends start cheering as soon as she launches into the chorus, and she finds herself loosening up, leaning into the mic and rocking her hips sinuously back and forth.

 _“‘Cuz I just wanna look good for you, good for you_  
_I just wanna look good for you, good for you_  
_Let me show you how proud I am to be yours_  
_Leave this dress a mess on the floor_ _  
And still look good for you, good for you...”_

Often, she locks gazes with Peeta as she sings, but his expression is unreadable, his stare molten, even as everyone around him cheers. But she knows it's not anger she sees there. She can’t stop her lips from curling up, briefly, before forcing them back into a pout. She’s never been mistaken for a brazen seductress before in her life, but for some reason it’s not hard to slip into the role right now.

Before the last notes of the song fade, the bar erupts in piercing whistles and applause, and, face pleasantly flushed, she gives a small bow before stepping down from the stage. Annie slaps both her palms with a toothy grin, Finnick leaning across the table to do the same.

“Hot mama, take me,” he begs, grasping at his heart. Katniss rolls her eyes, unable to keep the grin from taking over her face.

“Gonna be impossible to top that,” Darius agrees, flashing her an admiring smirk.

“Please, Finnick already set the bar too high with his first song,” she says with a shrug, too satisfied to be uncomfortable with the praise or over-the-top come-ons from her tour mates.

Everyone turns their attention back to the stage when Cato gets up to sing next, and Katniss idly pretends to watch him, tapping her finger on her empty beer bottle. She grows restless. Peeta hasn’t said anything, but she can feel his stare burning into her. Eventually, she glances in his direction. She goes still when she meets his eyes, her breath catching in her throat.

He’s not smiling, but there’s something in his eyes that makes her blood run hot.

After a beat, his eyebrow quirks slightly, and he leans closer to her, arm braced on the table as he loosely clasps his bottle in hand.

“That was quite a performance.”

She hums flippantly, looking away, tracing her fingertip over the papery edge of the label adhered to her bottle. “It was fun. Did you like it?”

This time he smiles, just barely. He doesn’t answer her question directly, and when he speaks, his voice is low, intended only for her ears.

“What are you trying to get up to tonight, Everdeen?” His words are a teasing drawl, but there’s a challenge too. She manages to breathe normally again, despite her blood now thrumming through her veins fast and hard, and she lets her gaze sweep around the bar, as if considering, and shrugs indifferently.

“I’m just keeping my options open,” she says, meeting the playful tone of his voice. With deliberate measure, she drags her eyes back to his and holds his gaze. Challenge met.

“Mm.” He breaks the stare and leans back in his seat to drink his beer, but she doesn’t miss the way his mouth curves into a brief smile before pursing around the glass.

She’s tense the rest of the night, feeling as taut as a pulled string.

* * *

They finally leave the karaoke bar around 1 a.m. Darius, Thresh and Cato decide to hit up a club, but the others call it a night and head back to the hotel. Finnick and Annie stumble off onto their floor with twin winking grins, and Katniss and Peeta are left in the elevator in silence.

Katniss grips the railing behind her, staring intently as the numbers tick by. She can feel Peeta’s eyes on her, though he says nothing. There’s a tension between them, thick and palpable, but so unlike the angry bitterness of past months.

No, this is something akin to that moment all those months ago, right before she propositioned him at The Mine and severed whatever pull had been simmering between them. She says nothing this time, but she feels certain, if she were to proposition him again, right now, his answer would be completely different.

The elevator opens, shaking her out of her daze, and they walk down the hallway to their room, Peeta just a step behind her. Once they’re inside, the tense silence persists as Katniss sheds her thick coat until he finally speaks up behind her, his words and tone measured.

“That was an interesting night.”

Inexplicably the hairs on her neck and arms rise, goosebumps appearing on her skin at the sound of his voice, despite the warmth of their room. Calmly, she lays her coat out on the armchair and turns to her duffel bag on her bed.

“Yes. Finnick singing ‘No Scrubs’ was quite entertaining,” she says diplomatically as she digs her pajamas out of her bag.

Peeta shrugs out of his jacket, draping it on the chair as well. “Mm. Was it? I don't really remember. I guess I was distracted during that part.”

She bites down on the inside of her lip and clutches her clothes to her chest, turning toward the bathroom. She briefly makes eye contact with him and swallows. “Well, I hope something caught your attention tonight,” she says boldly, then strides into the bathroom.

“I’d say so,” he murmurs before she shuts the door.

Her face is flushed and rosy when she glances in the mirror, eyes bright. She takes a few breaths to calm her fluttery heart, then she uses the bathroom and changes into her pajamas. Staring at her shorts, she makes a definitive decision and tosses them aside. She starts to brush her teeth but pauses, casting a sidelong, calculating glance at the door. Toothbrush in mouth, she carefully opens the door and leaves it ajar, moving back to the sink to resume brushing her teeth. Her heart thumps as she waits, wondering, hoping he’ll see her invitation...

His presence fills the doorway after a moment of methodic teeth brushing, and she lifts her gaze to his reflection in the mirror. Hands braced against the door frame, he leans into the bathroom; she watches the way his eyes rake up her bare legs to the slight swell of her ass under her long, threadbare shirt as she bends over the sink. Whatever he was going to say seems to die on his tongue as his lips part wordlessly. She’s glad for the monotonous movement of her toothbrush; otherwise, she’s sure he’d notice her hand shaking.

After rinsing out her mouth, she turns to him. His eyes are dark, bottomless; he doesn’t move, and she lifts her eyebrows with false defiance. “Excuse me,” she says primly, and he takes a step back, pushing roughly off the door frame.

She moves around him, but he doesn’t let her get far before the ability of speech returns to him.

“Katniss, we should talk.”

Her throat feels dry, heart palpitating in her chest. “I don’t really feel like talking.”

“ _Katniss_.”

Something in his voice—edgy, desperate, dangerous almost—makes her stop, and she turns back to him, trying not to tremble as he steps toward her; she mostly fails. He’s so close she can feel his heat, smell him—that scent of detergent and deodorant and aftershave so uniquely him, that scent that’s haunted her every waking day of this tour, that has indelibly etched itself into her conscious being. Her eyes linger on his chest, somewhere below his chin, before she can finally dare to meet his stare. His lips part but hesitate, like he’s lost his words again, and his eyes flit around her face, somewhere lower too. His chest rises with a deep breath, and the muscles in his throat work as he swallows.

Finally: “You were right.”

It’s just a murmur, barely audible. She blinks but goes rigid when he lifts his hand, fingertips skimming up her arm. He moves closer, invading her space, and she has to tip her head back to follow his eyes, but he just drags his fingers over the cotton material of her shirt along the curve of her shoulder, over to the neckline where he lingers, edging closer to the column of her throat, almost touching skin.

“I...what?” she breathes, head quickly becoming muddled with his proximity and the currents humming through her skin from his faint touch.

His eyes are lidded, and he takes a deep breath, like he’s just as shaken as she is and releases it slowly. His fingers don’t stop, trailing up her neck along the delicate tendon there. The sensation makes her nipples tighten, eliciting an ache between her thighs.

“I want you. I wanted you since the moment I met you,” he confesses, and he pauses to let that settle in. Her eyes widen with the admission but quickly droop with pleasure again when he leans closer still, close enough she can feel his breath on her throat as he talks. He continues, but it’s hard to make sense of his words while his finger continues to trace patterns on her neck, just behind her ear.

“I was attracted to you when I met you, but it wasn’t until I heard you sing for the first time...” Another heavy exhale, the breath against her ear making her shudder. “You were right. I _was_ flirting with you that night. I don’t think I meant to, not consciously, but you just...” He sighs deeply and drops his hand. The departure of his touch is so abrupt, Katniss’ eyes snap wide open, and her body sways toward his when he pulls back, just slightly. “I didn’t want you thinking of me like that. Thinking I was that kind of person. Dishonest or disloyal. It _killed_ me. I tried to deny it. To fight it. But I should have just been honest, with you, with myself, with everybody involved. I’m sorry.”

Maybe she should feel vindicated by his words. Triumphant. Smug. But mostly, she just feels relieved, buoyed by a sense of regret. His honesty forces her to be honest with herself. There’s nothing he’s saying that she doesn’t know by now, didn’t intrinsically come to understand about him after all this time together. All her anger, all the lashing out, was just a manifestation of her own wounded pride.

She knows he knows that too.

“Me too,” she whispers. At the slight furrowing of his brow, she drops her gaze. “I should have been honest too.”

“About?” he asks, voice hopeful but his expression guarded when she lifts her eyes again. She licks her lips, swallows hard, and steels herself.

“About wanting you too,” she says, tremulously, softly, but he hears her. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, and when he opens his eyes to peer at her, the look there is different. Resolved, wild.

He leans back into her, cupping her jaw to angle her face up to his. His fingers are so long she can feel the blunt nails scraping the back of her neck. A frisson of pleasure and anticipation trickles down her spine. Her eyes flutter, her heart racing as she waits for his mouth, but he just noses her cheek, then the juncture of her jaw and ear, lips barely skimming her skin. He presses his nose to the spot behind her ear he traced a moment before. There, he breathes her in.

“God, you’re so enticing,” he murmurs, his lips branding the words onto her skin. Katniss feels lightheaded, and she reaches out to ball his shirt in her fists, to hold herself upright. “So beautiful. Sleeping in a bed next to yours night after night but not having you has been fucking torturous. Do you know how agonizing that is?”

A wild, hysterical noise catches in her pinched throat. “I think so,” she gasps when he grazes first his tongue then his teeth over the spot behind her ear. It's tethered directly to her clit, apparently, something she didn't know till now. She throbs, panties growing damper, and she clenches her thighs together to quell, or relieve, anything, the ache he stirs in her.

“Six months,” he sighs, sweeping his thumb up and down her throat idly. “On the other hand, it gave me a lot of time to imagine what I’d do to you.” Her eyes open, her lips parting, but whatever sound she was going to make dies in her throat. “Do you want to know what I thought about?”

She’s not sure she can handle it; still, she finds herself rasping out a desperate affirmative.

“Touching you. Tasting you. Fucking you. For hours. All night. Making you come over and over again. First, with my fingers and then my mouth. I’d make you come so hard until you were begging for my cock.”

She’s on fire, her whole body lighting up with his murmured, heated testaments. Her pussy is drenched, the wetness seeping out of her with each hushed word from his lips doing absolutely nothing to quench the blaze igniting inside her. Her heavy breaths don’t even register to her own ears. He just keeps talking, promising even filthier things

“And I would give it to you, exactly what you asked for. Nice and slow until you come again, so wet and tight and hot around me, and when you think you can’t take anymore, I’d fuck you hard and fast, driving my cock into you, over and over, so deep, until you’re screaming—”

“Oh my god,” she laughs on a sob and clenches his shirt tighter, not sure how her knees are holding her up right now. “I think I’m gonna pass out.”

“Not yet,” he swears, his hand flexing around her throat, forcing her chin up, and he pulls back so he can look her in the eye. “Not until I’m done with you.”

He crushes his lips to hers, and her tongue meets his readily, her whimper lost in his mouth. His tongue lashes against hers, their lips fusing together in a desperate tangle of greediness, each trying to taste more, go deeper, give more. He tastes just like she remembers, his addictive flavor, the feeling of his lips and tongue that has haunted her all these months. She wants to weep: Finally, _finally_.

The brutal, unrelenting suction of their lips has them both panting heavily through their noses, until Peeta eases off, withdraws just barely, to scrape his teeth across her bottom lip, tugging it, swiping his tongue across it with a muffled groan. She echoes the sound before fusing her lips back to his, needing more, another taste, another sip, craving the luxury of his tongue stroking hers with such delicious expertise. They’ve shared only one kiss before this, and somehow, he already knows what she likes, what makes her wet.

And she’s so wet. The ache, the hollowness between her thighs, is so acute, it hurts now. She needs relief. She needs everything he promised her. She needs _him._

She slides her hands up his chest to grab his shoulders, breaking his grasp on her neck and face. His arms drop to her sides, but his hands immediately push her shirt up, gliding up her bare thighs to her ass cheeks, crushing her against his chest with a rough squeeze before he hikes her up into the air. With a gasp against his spittle-slick lips, she instinctively wraps her legs around him and clings to his neck, seeking his mouth for another kiss while he walks them to her bed. He leans forward to release her, easing her onto the bed, thoughtlessly shoving her bag out of the way. It spills its contents on the floor with a distant clatter.

Katniss reluctantly unwinds her legs from his waist but doesn’t release his mouth so easily, not until he tugs her arms free from his neck and pushes her away. Unbalanced, she slumps back on the bed, a spike of fear impaling her belly as she opens her eyes, worried he’s changed his mind.

But he only straightens to peel his shirt off, tugging it over his shoulders and head. She’s immediately greeted with the sight of his beautiful, toned chest, all pale, flushed skin and hard grooves and sparse dark blond hair. Eager, she sits up again and reaches for him, touching smooth, hot skin as she pulls him back down to her. How many times has she seen him shirtless, laid eyes on his body and wondered what he felt like but never being able to know? She knows all about torture. Desperate to make up for the loss, she glides her palms over his shoulders and arms and chest with tiny hums of approval around his tongue, reveling in the firm, solid muscles her palms mold to.

Peeta pushes her down into the mattress, his body shaping to hers. Her hips strain toward his, legs instinctively opening like a cradle. His erection pushes into her, thrilling her as he presses against her throbbing clit. The action sends a bolt of pleasure streaking through her, and she breaks the kiss to throw her head back.

“Oh god,” she moans, unable to stop herself from rubbing against him, seeking more friction, more pressure through their clothes. He groans too, thrusting, grinding, his mouth latching to her neck in her lips’ absence. “Peeta.”

His bottom teeth catch on the supple flesh under her jaw, and he growls, a deep, throaty sound of approval. “Keep saying that,” he pants against her ear, the press of his hips to hers harder, more prolonged, one hand gripping her hip. “Keep saying my name like that.”

He sucks her earlobe between his lips, skimming it with his tongue; his name falls from her mouth mindlessly, no doubt his intention. “ _Peeta_.”

With a pleased hum, he pulls away, sits back on his haunches to press his hand between her thighs. She squirms, feeling how uncomfortably damp her panties are as he pushes the material to her wet folds, but when he touches her clit, she bridges her back off the bed with a gasp, whining in the back of her throat with mindless need. His fingers push the crotch of her panties out of the way to drag through her arousal. They both groan as he traces her swollen lips.

“Fuck,” he sighs, then withdraws his hand. She sighs at the loss. “Take your shirt off.”

His hands hook around the sides of her panties, his fingers smearing her wetness on her right hip as he tugs them down. She cants her hips for ease of removal and wriggles on the bed until she can pull her shirt and bralette off without having to sit up, tossing the clothes somewhere off the side of the bed. Once Peeta peels the skimpy material off her feet, her legs fall open around him as he kneels between.

She’s naked, vulnerable and completely open to him, but she only registers this with a faint awareness, too racked with lust to care. His rough hands glide up her smooth shins, down her thighs, and back up to rest on her knees, pushing just a little more to spread her wider. He stares down at her, his eyes pupil-fat and blackened with hunger as they sweep down her naked body, keenly assessing her small, pert breasts, her flat stomach, her wet pussy. Her stomach clenches with a sort of sick, eager anticipation that makes her thighs begin to tremble.

“Fuck,” he repeats, a little more harshly this time, more reverently. His cheeks are flushed. He licks his lips, eyes glazed, and his right hand skims down one of her thighs, sweeping over the gully between her hip bones. “You’re so gorgeous.”

She can’t help her blush under his intense scrutiny, but her chest heaves with a sharp inhale when his fingers drag lower and touch her pussy again, slipping through her folds, rubbing her lips up and down in a leisurely, unhurried pace. She squeezes her eyes shut and gives into the sensation, breasts thrusting upward when he slides two fingers inside her, her back bowing. He groans thickly. “Hot. So fucking hot.” His fingers pump in and out, drawing gasps from her while he finger-fucks her at a torturous pace. Katniss clutches at the sheets around her, her moans soft and low. His fingers are thick inside her, and they move inside her easily, lubricated well by her arousal.

But he pulls them out too soon, hunching over her to kiss her again. Her lips part and welcome his tongue, her teeth catching around it when he starts rubbing his wet fingers over her clit, tugging at the fleshy hood. The effect is instantaneous, her muscles tightening, belly coiling as pleasure mounts. Her moans are breathy, guttural puffs against his mouth until he relinquishes her lips to kiss down her neck, licking a path to her breast. His tongue encircles the tight bud of her nipple before his lips suction around it, and her gut tightens more, hips undulating under his hand.

“Peeta,” she pants. He hums distractedly in response, pulling at her nipple with his teeth and kneading her other breast in his free hand, still working her clit. Her thighs spread wider as her body flushes hot; her breaths grow harsher. She can hear the slick sounds of his fingers stroking her, making her hotter, wetter. “I...god, don’t stop, don’t stop,” she gasps, hips pushing against his hand faster now. Sensing her urgency, he rubs her clit in tighter, quicker circles, and she gulps out shuddering breaths, the pleasure winding tighter, tighter, until it snaps, racing through her as she comes.

Her cries echo around the room, and he lifts his head to kiss her roughly, cajoling her through her orgasm with eager, light flicks of his fingers. Her orgasm ebbs, the rushing blood receding in her ear drums, and she pushes his hand away when it becomes too much, reaching for his pants and zipper, needing his cock inside her, _now_ , god, _please_. But he stills her hand with his own, pulling back.

“Not yet. Tongue next, remember?” he murmurs, and her head drops to the bed with a frustrated thump. But even still, she tenses with excitement as he slides down her body and drags her body with him. At the foot of the bed, he falls to his knees on the floor. Her hands go out to her sides, fisting in the sheets as he opens her thighs, posting her heels on the edge of the mattress.

He takes his time, the tip of his tongue delicately tracing her swollen folds. She inhales shakily, head tipping back. It’s a heavenly feeling, the gentle, exploratory tasting of her, as he eases her into it, paying deference to her still fraught nerve endings. As soon as he feels the shift in her body, the subtle angling of her hips toward him, the tightening of her hands in the sheets, he curls his large hands around her hips and opens his mouth over her wider, preparing to feast. His tongue is no longer tentative as he licks her from taint to clit, over the length of her slick seam, catching the juices leaking from her pussy.

“God, you taste good,” he groans, curling his tongue inside her so deep, she can feel his jaw flexing against her. He dips his tongue inside her again, fucking her, swallowing messily, his saliva mixing with her own slippery cum.

She’s been eaten out before, to mixed results—but nothing like this, nothing so raw, so explicit. Judging by the hurried, eager thrusts of his tongue inside her, she’d think he’s enjoying this even more than she is—if she couldn’t feel exactly how good it is, the exquisite pleasure of his silky, facile tongue learning her most intimate places.

When he finally seeks out her clit, she’s a writhing, sweating mess, mewling and whimpering in near agony. Her hands latch onto his hair when he flicks his tongue over the swollen, sensitive bud, with slow, long licks until she’s grinding against his face, desperate for him to finish her off. “Please—Peeta, I need, I need...” she pants, unable to complete the thought coherently.

“What do you need?” he asks against her pussy, lips and tongue and teeth scraping the words over her clit, and she whines, toes curling over the edge of the bed.

“I need to come, please,” she begs, not caring how desperate and needy he’s made her in this moment. He sucks her clit into his mouth in answer, gingerly pushing the hood back with his teeth. She keens, arching off the bed as he stiffens his tongue and flicks it back and forth furiously, relentless, until, finally, she breaks, cresting the wave of euphoria, crying and clenching with the pleasure that flows through her like warm liquor.

Peeta suckles at her clit through the initial sharp ripples of her orgasm, but then he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses down to her slit where he tongues her, swallowing the rush of wetness that seeps out of her.

“Oh my god,” she blubbers, finally wrenching her fingers from his disheveled hair to cradle her face, trying to calm her trembling limbs as the aftershocks of her climax fade. Peeta lets go of her legs, and they collapse to the bed bonelessly as he stands up. She doesn’t realize what he’s doing until she uncovers her face to look.

He’s stripping, pushing his pants and boxer-briefs down his hips. His hard cock bounces free, standing rigid and thick even as he bends over to kick the rest of his clothes off.

Her eyes widen at the sight, glazing over with thirst, and she struggles into a sitting position, reaching for him eagerly. Her hand wraps around his cock, and he grabs onto her shoulder to balance himself, unprepared for the sudden tight, earnest grip of her fist.

“Oh fuck—Katniss,” he grunts, thrusting despite himself into the warmth of her hand. She marvels at the weight and feel of him as she strokes him root to tip, the long shaft velvety and hot and sparsely corded with veins. The head is beaded with precum that only builds with her slow strokes, and she swipes her thumb over the globule before it can dribble over her hand, rubbing it down his shaft. After a few thrusts, he pries her hand off his cock, pushes her messy hair back from her face and tilts her head up, leaning down to kiss her roughly.

When he pulls away, she blinks up at him languidly. He’s so beautiful. She wants to worship his cock, wants to make him feel as divine as he’s made her feel. But she doesn’t know how to tell him this, so inept with words when it matters. Instead she pulls on his shoulders, reclining underneath him to give him what he asked for, what he’s wanted, as much as she has.

“Can you fuck me now?”

His eyes go darker still, lidded and hungry, and he groans low in his chest, crawling between her legs onto the bed and pulling her body up the mattress. He kisses her lips, a quick swipe of his tongue to hers, then he kisses her jaw, her neck, her clavicle, the tips of her breasts, before he lifts his head again, eyes wild as they seek hers.

“Where are those condoms?” he asks, voice gravelly with faltering restraint.

“In my bag somewhere,” she says, gesturing in the direction he threw her stuff before.

He has to stand up, dragging his body away from hers to dig through her spilled belongings until he locates the box of condoms. Her body’s already itching for his, the stark absence of his heat and flesh on hers making her antsy. Peeta opens the box but goes still when he pulls out the strip of condoms, realizing a couple are already missing.

It takes Katniss a second to understand what he’s realizing—that she’s used at least one condom with someone else. Her eyes go wide at the feral edge flashing through his eyes. She hurriedly sits up on her elbows.

“You can’t be mad at me,” she blurts, her defenses kicking in. He has no right, not when he all but pushed her into Darius’ arms, not when he brought Glimmer here on tour and probably fucked her every night.

Peeta swallows, eyes clenching shut, before he releases a heavy breath. His jaw flexes, relaxes, and he shakes his head adamantly.

“I’m not,” he grits out, voice shaky and low, and he opens his eyes again, looking down at her. “I’m just so fucking _jealous_. Thinking about you with—fuck.”

Maybe it shouldn’t, but his confession warms her, washing through her like a balm to her irritation. She gets it. It’s a relief to know she wasn’t the only one jealous, the only one envious of the person warming his bed when it couldn’t be her.

Peeta tears a condom away and tosses the box onto the nightstand, and Katniss falls back to the mattress as he crawls over her. She pulls his mouth to hers, and he stretches his body out on top of hers, forearms braced above her head so he can fumble the condom open, his attention preoccupied by her demanding tongue.

Unfortunately, he has to pull away to put the condom on once it’s free from the wrapping. “Hold on,” he grunts, reaching down to roll the latex over his shaft. She helps, reaching between them to pinch the tip until he has it secured around the base of his cock. Then she grabs his face again to kiss his lips.

“I can’t wait anymore,” she tells him, and his lips quirk against hers briefly.

“I know the feeling,” he murmurs, positioning his head between her thighs. His blunt tip parts her folds, pushing in. He drops his head forward with a quiet groan, easing in with shallow thrusts. He’s big; as turned on as she is, her body resists the intrusion slightly, walls clenching until he works her open. He pulls his hips back slightly then pushes in again, rippling his hips until he’s seated inside her completely. Her moan cuts off in her throat, her breath catching; he stifles his sound against her shoulder, his cock hugged tightly by her walls.

There’s no movement right away, both adjusting to the feeling. Katniss’ eyes are closed as she revels in it, but after a moment she realizes she’s trembling, the muscles in her thighs and abdomen quivering uncontrollably. Peeta notices and flutters a kiss against her neck, twice, before lifting his head. His blue eyes find hers.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. She wants to laugh, her eyes watering, because she doesn’t know why she’s shaking. She just feels overwhelmed. He grabs one of her hands and presses the heel to his chest, right over his sternum, lacing his fingers through hers securely. His heart races beneath her palm, pounding hard, and she searches his eyes questioningly, threading her fingers through his damp chest hair. His mouth twitches in a skittish smile. “Me too,” he says.

The fast, rhythmic pumping of his heart soothes her. Gradually her trembling muscles exhaust themselves, relaxing, easing. Her breathing abates as his heartbeat settles, and she lifts her mouth to his for a fleeting kiss, closing her eyes.

Still, Peeta doesn’t move until she does. Her hips begin to wiggle with a restless energy, as the pressure of his cock inside her becomes more insistent, impossible to ignore. An unsatiated need rears through her, even though he’s already made her come twice.

Releasing her hand, Peeta lifts up over her to get his knees under him, his thighs bracing hers open. And then he starts fucking her, retracting his hips to thrust into her again. The friction of his cock sliding against her walls, nice and slow at first, warms her up, making her slick and needy for more.

Planting her heels on the bed, she tries to widen herself for him, rolling her hips to meet his thrusts each time they connect. It’s too much.

“Peeta,” she gasps, neck arching, straining, and he grunts, snapping his hips against hers with more force, more speed.

“So good,” he sighs into her neck, licking the tendon there. Her hands scrabble for purchase on his arms, his sides, his back, feeling the contracting muscles there as he moves inside her, holding himself above her. She reaches for his ass, thrilling when her hands grip at solid flesh. He thrusts harder with a groan, seemingly excited by her groping too, so she squeezes him more firmly, pulling him closer, wanting more, more of his cock, more of this feeling.

“Peeta,” she moans again, hoping he can hear the need in her voice.

He must, because he moans softly against her breast and lifts himself higher, holding himself above her with his hands splayed on the mattress. Then he starts fucking her faster, stroking himself inside her deeper. His thighs are hard against the backs of hers as their bodies meet, repeatedly, loudly, the confluence of their flesh generating a hypnotic sound.

“God, Katniss,” he huffs, eyes lulling shut with their steady, increasingly frenetic rocking. “So tight.” He emphasizes this with a sharp thrust and grunt, pushing a whimper from deep in her throat. “Perfect.”

“Yes,” she echoes, holding onto his biceps now, breathing hard and fast as his strokes grow more hurried, rougher. He’s panting too, skin dewy with sweat, his chest heaving. But he slows abruptly, snaking one hand between their bodies to rub at her clit.

She tenses, her thighs instinctively trying to shut around his hips. “ _Ah_ —I don’t think I can,” she gasps as he touches her, both loving and hating the uncomfortable pleasure his fingers bring to her clit. It's too raw; she's never come more than twice. Barely more than once, really.

He pauses his thrusts, his fingers only brushing over her lightly, and he watches her as she squirms, not sure if she wants to push into him or pull away.

“I think you can,” he says, but then he’s pulling out of her, withdrawing his hand. She’s confused until he urges her onto her stomach, settling back between her thighs and pulling her ass up into the air, thighs steepled around his. She keeps her hands and face braced against the bed, feeling his cock prodding at her entrance as he angles himself. Then he’s sliding into her, hard and rough. Her grunts are muffled in the sheets, and she buries her face against the bed, locking her legs against his thrusts.

Peeta leans over her, his chest to her back, and his hand fits itself between her thighs, lighting on her clit again. She goes taut, but he only presses against the flesh right above her clit, rubbing slowly and carefully. The motions tug on the clitoral hood, only stimulating her indirectly. It doesn't take long before she’s moaning wantonly, pushing, arching back into him, not quite believing she’s about to come again. 

“Peeta, I’m gonna come,” she cries, clutching the crumpled pile of sheets to her chest.

“Me too,” he grunts, his fingers working faster as he pounds into her, his cock pushing and pulling inside her pussy with wet, noisy thrusts. “I wanna feel your pussy around my dick when you do, Katniss. Come on, sweetheart.”

She wails something intelligible, too far gone chasing the pleasure spreading between her thighs to care about the detested endearment. Her legs are useless, her thighs fanning too far out under the brutal onslaught of his thrusts to hold her up anymore; he’s fucking her down against the bed now, his hand pinned underneath her as his pelvis slaps against her ass, fingers now working on her clit in tandem with the quick, messy strokes of his cock, her body tightening, spiraling—

And then she's there, coming again, her body bearing down around his, clenching and unclenching around his cock. She screams into the mattress, her fluttering pussy wet and hot and swollen, so tight on his shaft. Peeta’s moves falter and lose rhythm, and he shudders above her, his mouth pressed to her shoulder as he comes with a few deep, sloppy thrusts before finally going still; she feels more than hears his groan, the tortured sound drowned out by the rushing pulse of her heart beat in her ears. His cock pulses inside her as he fills the condom, and she quivers around him, ass arching back into him, walls milking, wrenching the last of his orgasm from him.

He shudders again and huffs, open-mouthed, against her back before he turns his head, burying his face between her shoulder blades and her knotted curtain of hair. He shifts his weight off her so he’s not crushing her to the mattress, pulling his hand out from under her to lift himself up.

She doesn’t care though, too boneless and satiated and fucking destroyedto even move, let alone care how well she can breathe at the moment.

“You okay?” he asks breathlessly, his lips spelling the words out on her skin, and she gives a long groan, nodding her head. She thinks she feels him smile at that. “I’m gonna throw the condom away.”

"Hmm." She nods again, eyes drifting shut as he moves off the bed. She misses his heat and weight, but her sore muscles scream in relief once she can finally stretch her legs out. But she doesn’t move otherwise as he pads into the bathroom, her cheek still pressed to the bed.

She passes out just like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs:
> 
> "Fade into You" by Clare Bowen and Sam Palladio of "Nashville"  
> "Dreams" by Fleetwood Mac  
> "Take Me to Church" by Hozier  
> "Good for You" by Selena Gomez
> 
> Talk to me on tumblr, I'm muttpeeta :)


	13. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it. The last chapter. Only an epilogue left. Thank you so much for all the comments and encouragement you've given me on this story, you have no idea how much it's meant to me. Hope you enjoy!

When Katniss awakes, there’s no confusion about her whereabouts, no delayed recollection of the previous night’s activities. The evidence is apparent before she even opens her eyes—in the mild ache between her legs, the warmth at her back, the weight anchored around her waist.

She tries to burrow under the covers, to escape back to the peacefulness of slumber and to delay reality just a little longer, but the pressure in her bladder is insistent and uncomfortable. Which promptly reminds her that she passed out before she could use the bathroom after she and Peeta had sex.

She had sex with Peeta. A lot of sex. Hot, nasty sex.

The memories flood her with heat, a perplexing mix of lust and bashfulness. She tries to suppress a shudder and turns her face into her pillow, aware that the source of her discomfort and arousal sleeps spooned around her. She’s oddly pleased he stayed in her bed, even though she guesses she must have fallen asleep before he even returned from the bathroom last night. Her hand slips under the covers, seeking, until her fingers skim the solidness of his forearm around her waist, cradling her to his chest.

They’re both still naked, she realizes. His cock is semi-hard and pressed against her bare ass. The feeling makes her lungs seize, and she opens her eyes again, willing herself to take quiet, measured breaths.

Because the longer she lies there, something other than arousal starts to settle in her stomach, making her heart race, making a cold sweat break out along her skin. Holding her breath, Katniss carefully extricates herself from under his arm, slowly, slowly, scooting to the edge of the bed to sit up.

Peeta stirs behind her, and she freezes. When she doesn’t hear any more movement behind her, she releases her breath and hops out of bed. Her leg muscles cry out in protest, but she bites back her groan. Her thighs and hips have never felt this sore before; she feels like she’s been used and thrown around like a rag doll. Snatching her shirt off the ground, she has to untangle her bralette from the material before she can shove the shirt down over her head and arms, then she tiptoes around the bed to the bathroom, not risking a glance back at Peeta. She nearly slams the door shut in her haste but manages to catch it before it can latch too loudly.

Taking a deep breath, she presses her hand to her chest to calm her fluttering heart. She sits down on the toilet to pee and hangs her head in her hands. The relief to her bladder is only a slight balm to her frayed nerves, and she sighs heavily into her palms.

She had sex with Peeta. With her band mate. Her coworker. Someone she has to see every hour of every day, working side by side.

What a dumb, ill-advised move. How is she supposed to look him in the eye and act professional when she knows what his dick looks like? And exactly what he can do with it? Not to mention what he can do with that tongue…

A violent shudder racks her at the thought, and she forces it out of her mind to finish up in the bathroom. At the sink, she finally musters the courage to look at her reflection—and she grimaces. Her hair is a mess, and the cheek that was pressed to the pillow while she slept is chafed red and creased with lines. Squinting, she leans closer to the mirror and touches her neck.

Yep, that’s a fucking hickey.

Embarrassed, Katniss quickly rinses her hands before finger combing the rat's nest on her head into something more manageable, wincing when her fingers snag on knots. She splashes her face to cool her cheeks, but her heart is still jumping in her throat.

Fuck, she’s starting to freak out. She needs to go for a run or something before she loses it. Get out of the room. Get some space, wrap her head around what they’ve done, what happens _now_ , come back when she can act like a normal human being who doesn't freak out over awesome sex.

As quietly as she can, Katniss tiptoes back into the room. Worried Peeta might be awake, she peers around the corner to her bed—and pulls up short.

He isn’t awake, or at least doesn’t appear to be, but he’s rolled onto his back in his sleep. His arm is slung out to his side, reaching across the space she vacated, the other shoved under his pillow. His hair is adorably mussed, pressed flat in some spots and sticking up in others; his mouth is parted slightly with his soft, even breaths. He’d almost look angelic if it weren’t for the devilish hint of what lies under the comforter. The covers have slipped down, baring his chest, his hard abs, the iliac grooves of his sculpted hips, and the beginning smattering of darker pubic hair. She can see the slight bulge of his half-erect cock just below, only barely hidden by the covers.

Her throat constricts at the sight of him lying there, her mouth going dry. She’s not sure how long she stands there watching him, just that the panic recedes gradually, and in its place, a consuming need takes root.

At the foot of the bed, she grabs a fistful of the comforter and gently tugs, inch by inch, until his cock is completely revealed. It’s a little softer than when she saw it last night, resting on his thigh, but still beautiful. Heat pulses between her thighs, making her slick as she stares at him. Biting her lip, she climbs onto the bed at his feet. He doesn’t stir as she crawls over him to straddle his waist. One more glance at his peaceful face, and she presses a kiss to his chest, in the patch of hair between his pecs. She kisses a trail up to the furrow between his clavicles, up to his neck. Only then does he react, a soft sound rumbling in his throat. She can feel it against her lips as she parts them over the deep crevice between his neck and jaw bone, laving her tongue over his skin. He tastes of dried sweat. She savors him again in another greedy, wet kiss.

This time Peeta moans deep in his chest, his body shifting under her. She lifts her head just as his eyes crack open, sleepy wonder welling in their blue depths before she seals her lips to his, parting them to brush her tongue to his. The sourness of both their mouths doesn’t repel either of them; he reciprocates the kiss by opening his mouth more, meeting the increasingly eager strokes of her tongue with his own.

His arms encircle her, hands molding to her waist. She sighs through her nose, kissing him harder, angling her head to the side to reach her tongue deeper into his mouth. She’s practically licking his molars, but she can’t make herself back off, or slow down. Her body begins to grow restless, hips rocking aimlessly in the air, so she settles her full weight on top of him, both of them moaning into the kiss when she presses against his cock. Her shirt rides up as she wriggles her body, and she can feel the dribble of his precum slicking the skin of her belly. His cock twitches and grows, and her own excitement seeps between her thighs.

She lets her hands roam over him, his chest, the rippling muscles over his ribs, his shoulders and arms, and finally up into his soft hair. He pushes her shirt up in the back to slide his palms down the curve of her spine to her ass where he cups her roughly, pushing and pulling her against him, jacking himself off with the friction of their bodies. The motion rocks her pussy against the base of his cock, and she whimpers, inadvertently biting at his lips. He answers with a grunt, catching her top lip with his teeth to tug before thrusting his tongue back into her mouth. He tastes hot and tangy now, the staleness of their breaths fading with the mingling of their saliva.

Her clit is throbbing, the acute ache too much to ignore now. She’s coated his cock in her arousal just by rutting against him, and she’s afraid if she doesn’t stop now she’ll be too tempted to slip him inside her bare.

With a gasp, she releases his mouth. His eyes snap open to meet hers, before she stretches across the bed to grab the box of condoms off the nightstand. It’s a reach, and Peeta holds onto her hips so she doesn’t topple over. Snatching up the box, she falters when he lifts his head to nip at her nipples through her shirt, drawing one tight bud between his teeth. He sucks it into his mouth, wetting her shirt with his tongue. Her eyes droop with pleasure, but she only allows herself a couple seconds to enjoy his ministrations before she sits back down on him and rips into the box.

Tearing a condom free, she throws the box back on the nightstand and rips open the package, shifting up onto her shins and reaching underneath her to grab his cock. He jerks in her hand with a hiss, and she hurriedly rolls the latex down his thick shaft. He’s hot and heavy in her hand, made slippery from the condom’s lubrication. Once he’s ready, she angles him between her thighs and sinks down on him with little preamble.

Her lips stretch open, any sounds trapped in her throat; she has to brace her hands against his abdomen as she works him inside herself, her walls stretching around his thick cock. She’s still a little sore from the previous night, but she’s too turned on to stop or go slow.

“Oh,” she finally breathes out when he’s seated completely inside her. Peeta lets out a harsh exhale, his eyes shut. He catches his bottom lip between his teeth, face pinched in bliss.

She doesn’t waste any time moving, undulating her hips in small, careful revolutions until she’s adjusted to him. Then she leans down over him, taking him by surprise when she kisses him again. Something about their tongues touching while his cock’s inside her makes her shudder, makes her wetter, and she moans into his mouth. One of his hand threads through her hair, gripping the back of her head firmly as he pries her lips open wider for more probing thrusts of his tongue.

Digging her knees into the mattress, Katniss begins to slide up and down his shaft. Peeta groans in approval, his hand on her hip guiding her movements, reaching around to grab her ass and tease his fingers between her cheeks. She picks up the speed of her thrusts, sinking down onto him only to pull up, all the way to the tip, before repeating the downward motion. Her arousal slicks the condom, making the quick, urgent meeting of their bodies noisy and wet.

Needing relief, she flattens her body to his, canting her hips so she can grind against him. Her clit rubs against the base of his cock and the rough pubic hair on his pelvic bone, and she breaks away from his mouth to pant out a moan. Her face buried in the crook of his neck, she splays one hand beside his head and gyrates on top of him, breathing heavily against his shoulder.

Peeta pulls her shirt up farther to feel her bare breasts pressed against his chest. Then he reaches back down to grab her ass, kneading and cupping her cheeks.

“There you go,” he croons into her ear, his voice thick with lust and sleep, then he grazes his tongue over her jaw. With an answering moan, she bears down on him harder, the pleasure of her approaching orgasm spreading through her in warm tendrils, quickly, quicker still.

And with a few jerky twitches of her hips, she comes. The pleasure snaps her spine straight, and she sits up with a cry, back arching, hips rocking against his as she rides out her orgasm, chasing the pulsing, hot feeling between her thighs.

She’s still riding the waves of her climax when Peeta pulls her back down to him and rolls her underneath him. A gasp catches in her throat as he gets his arms under her knees and drags them up to her chest.

Then he’s fucking her, taking control. His body pins hers to the mattress, his chest and stomach flat against hers while his hips buck into hers. Her moans are sharp and punctuated, drowning out the sound of his pelvis and balls slapping against her ass. Her eyes clench shut from the intensity of their fucking. When he ducks his head to suck at her breasts, she cries out, bridging up into him, loving the hurried, painful tugs of his lips and teeth on her nipples before he soothes them with his tongue. Her clit is still pulsing with her residual orgasm and already with another one building.

But his thrusts grow more urgent, faster, and he releases her breasts when he lifts his head, bracing one arm on the pillow above her head. Their gazes meet, and she’s sure her face is just as sweaty and flushed as his, their chests heaving with their quick, hard breaths. Her moans are guttural whines deep in her throat, her heart thrashing in her rib cage. His breath is hot on her face. She can’t look away, their eyes locked on each other’s, until his jaw flexes, his lip curling to bare his teeth, and then his eyes snap shut as he comes.

His hips slam into hers once, twice, then he goes still for a moment, a groan catching in his throat. After a second, he releases it, panting hard, and his head drops forward as his hips rock into hers again, like he’s trying to get as deep inside her as possible.

After a moment to catch his breath, Peeta unwinds his arm from her leg, and she lowers them to the bed. As she stretches her hips out, she winces at the soreness that radiates through them, and she flexes her fingers against his sides. He shifts his weight onto his arms so he’s not crowding her so much, and their eyes meet again.

His lips twitch, his nostrils flaring with his labored breaths. “That’s one way to wake up,” he muses, his husky voice languid and amused. She smiles and lets the air out of her lungs. Peeta elevates himself above her with his hand flat on the bed. “Sure beats a pillow to the face.”

She bites her lip with a blush. “That was one time,” she murmurs, sliding one hand up the back of his neck to curl her fingers in the sweat-damp hair there. Her nails scratch against his scalp, and he drops his head to her chest with a laughing groan. She continues idly scratching his head, his breaths hot and sticky on the valley between her breasts.

He’s still inside her, softer but still hot. She feels an insistent ache where his cock is, her clit pulsing lightly with unquenched need, and she clenches around him. His answering groan is soft, almost pained, and she squirms under him, pulling her knees up, rolling her hips, testing him. His breaths grow harsher, his forehead pressed to her sternum, and he fists his hand in the sheets. Eventually, to her pleasant surprise, his cock swells thicker inside her again. Her heart races in response. Maybe...His hips resume moving against hers, careful, shallow thrusts, sending pleasure reeling through her, but then he abruptly goes still.

“Wait, fuck. Condom,” he groans ruefully as he lifts his head. She ceases her movements with a frustrated sigh but nods her head.

“Yeah,” she says, letting her hand fall from his head. Peeta rises onto his knees and reaches between them to grasp the base of the condom before pulling out. At the emptiness between her thighs, she muffles a sound of disappointment by biting her lip, watching him as he kneels over her, still holding onto the condom. He pulls it off his cock and glances toward the nightstand, like he’s going to grab another, but his eyes widen.

“Shit. We’re supposed to leave in 10 minutes.”

Confused, Katniss twists onto her side so she can look up at the clock. It’s 9:48 a.m. They’re supposed to meet Haymitch down in the lobby at 10 to head to the next city. She gasps and scrambles into a seating position, forcing Peeta to sit back on his heels. “Shit, I—I need a shower,” she stammers, looking at him before looking away just as quickly. She yanks her shirt down to cover her breasts.

“Of course, yeah. Let me throw this away first,” he says and climbs off the bed. He retreats into the bathroom, and Katniss tries to smooth her hair back from her face before she gets out of bed to tug her shirt down over her ass. She quickly gathers a change of clothes from her bag as Peeta walks back into the room, still completely naked. And hard.

Her cheeks flame, and she ducks her head as she rushes past him for the bathroom, suddenly inexplicably shy.

* * *

There’s no time for them to talk once they’re both showered and have hastily packed up all their belongings. Katniss is embarrassed by the wet spot on her bed (good lord, how much did she come in the past eight hours?) so she strategically positions the comforter over it and makes a mental note of apology to the hotel staff before she and Peeta duck out of their hotel room and ride down to the lobby.

Now that the lusty bubble of orgasmic bliss has popped, Katniss is starting to feel awkward and frazzled, and she has no clue how to interact with Peeta. Is she the bitchy band mate? The tentative friend? The fuck buddy? She has no idea how to identify the state of their relationship. Thankfully, other people get on the elevator with them before they’re forced to make small talk and discuss the sex that just occurred, but she can’t help herself from sneaking looks at him over the others’ heads. Each time he catches her eye, but she can’t hold his gaze. Certainly he can sense her discomfort, as his brow furrows in consternation.

They meet Haymitch in the lobby, Katniss fussing with her wet hair in an attempt to smooth down any lingering “just been fucked” strands. If their manager senses anything amiss between his two wards, he doesn’t say anything, just grunts in greeting as he leads them to the van outside. He starts loading everything in the back, and Katniss takes the opportunity to climb into the back seat. After a moment Peeta gets in the passenger seat, and when Haymitch slams the back doors shut, pitching them into temporary silence, Peeta twists in his seat to look at her.

“Katniss—” he starts, and her eyes widen at him.

“We don’t—we don’t need to talk about it,” she says, and, at his frown, rushes to add, “I mean right now.” Her eyes dart to the window to make sure Haymitch is still a safe distance away from the driver’s side door, before she continues, as if Peeta needs his ego assuaged, “Last night was good. Um. Really good.” Understatement of the year.

With a blush, she looks away right as Haymitch yanks the door open and climbs in.

* * *

She’s got herself so wound up by the time they get to the next hotel, even hours later, that she’s not sure how she’ll be able to share a room with him again. Or perform with him on stage. Or look him in the eye. What was she thinking, fucking her band mate? You don’t shit where you eat. Darius was one thing, easily dismissible or at least avoidable, but Peeta—

No, she can’t think about it.

She’s too freaked out about the inevitability of her situation with Peeta that there’s no worry to spare about Haymitch driving in the snow, at least. When they pull up to the hotel, Katniss clambers out of the side of the van and quickly unloads her stuff so she can hike to the lobby ahead of Peeta and Haymitch. Unfortunately, she still has to wait for them to get a room key.

Their floor is before Haymitch’s so she’s able to put off the awkward conversation with Peeta a little bit longer. Once they’re inside their room, however, she can sense Peeta wanting to corner her, to open his mouth and speak. So she beats him to the punch.

“I’m gonna go for a run,” she announces, not looking up as she scours her bag for her winter workout clothes.

Peeta drops his stuff on his bed, lips pinching slightly in thought. “You mean, in the gym?”

She shakes her head, her chest already feeling tight with the need to get out of there before she crawls out of her skin. “No, outside.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Outside—it’s been snowing. It’s icy out there,” he says incredulously, like she’s not aware. She just shrugs and yanks at her sports bra where it’s caught around her sneaker. She can’t be on a treadmill right now, just running in place, staring at a wall. Feeling like a caged rat. Peeta exhales roughly and runs a hand through his hair. “Okay. I’ll come with you.”

At that, her eyes snap up to his. “Oh—but—”

“It’s not safe outside, Katniss. You shouldn’t run alone.” His voice is even and stern, brooking no argument. She bites back an exasperated sigh. She wants to snap out a retort, to argue that she wants to be alone, hating feeling like he’s babysitting her, but she knows he’s just trying to look out for her.

“Okay, just...hurry,” she says, keeping the edge out of her voice as she slips into the bathroom to change. She pulls on a pair of thermal running tights and a long-sleeve shirt before shoving her arms and head through a tech fleece jacket. Then she puts her hair up into a ponytail but hesitates before opening the door, not sure if enough time has passed to let Peeta get fully changed.

Which is a dumb concern since she’s already seen him naked. She rolls her eyes at her idiocy. Still, a light blush colors her cheeks, and she stalls a second longer before forcing the door open. When she steps back into the room, she nearly trips over her own feet. Because what Peeta’s wearing is almost more indecent than if he were naked.

And he might as well be naked, really, seeing as the black running leggings he has on do everything to accentuate his package. And his muscular thighs, and his firm ass, which she gets a glimpse of when he turns to his bag to pull his running shoes out. She’s never seen him in those leggings before, since he normally just wears shorts at the hotel gyms.

Heat sets her face on fire as she takes him in; the fit of his clothes, even his thick hoodie, on his broad, lean frame, only reminds her of the body underneath, the body that dominated hers last night and this morning, that turned her into a quivering mass of flesh and bones and spent fluids.

Peeta perches on the edge of his bed to put his socks and shoes on, glancing up at her. She doesn’t miss the quick once-over he does, his eyes lingering on her legs. She forces herself to move then, mechanically stalking to her bed to grab her shoes too. They sit in silence as they lace up their sneakers and put on some gloves. She tugs on a cold weather headband to cover her ears, and then they’re out the door with their key cards. Katniss doesn’t realize she doesn’t have her phone and earbuds with her until they’re in the elevator, so distracted by his presence. But she doesn’t go back for them, mostly because she can’t stop stealing glances at Peeta and his obscene leggings long enough to do so.

She really needs to burn off this sudden festering energy inside her. Immediately.

He pulls his hood up to shield his head, and with a huff, Katniss sets off through the lobby doors first because no way in hell will she be able to run behind him and stare at that ass without face planting in the snow. But Peeta was right about the treacherous conditions, and she has to slow her pace, making careful footfalls around questionable patches of snow and ice on the sidewalk. It doesn’t take Peeta long to fall in step beside her, his stride just as cautionary.

It’s cold, the kind of cold that you can feel down in your bones. There’s a light sprinkling of wet snow falling, stinging her eyes and sticking to her eyelashes, forcing her to squint. She very quickly regrets her choice of workout environment but pushes on, eager for the exertion of their run to lend some warmth to her extremities.

It’s an effort to keep her line of sight pinned ahead of her, to not let it drift to her running partner at her side. From the corner of her eye, she can make out the rosy tinge of Peeta’s cheeks and nose in the sub-freezing temperatures. Their breaths fog the air as they run, nearly synced. The cold hurts her lungs, but the pain helps her focus, eventually diverting her attention from Peeta as they run.

Until he stumbles, his foot slipping on an icy patch. She reacts instinctively, twisting to catch him as her foot skids out to stop her forward momentum. Her hands clumsily grab his arm to jerk him upright before he can eat the pavement, but his weight and trajectory cause her foot to slip on the slick sidewalk too. Her legs wobble, feet sliding, threatening to give out as she tries to gain traction, but his arms lock around her waist to steady her as he finally gets his legs under him again.

Katniss breathes a sigh of relief when she realizes they’re not going down, her heart hammering from the spike of fear. Then she’s laughing, dipping her head back to look up at him.

He’s actually blushing, but he laughs too, eyes crinkling sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“I thought you were here for _my_ safety,” she says, trying to catch her breath.

“Guess I was the one who needed saving,” he says wryly. “Thanks.”

She’s still grinning up at him, both of them panting, but her smile fades as she stares at him. She notes the wet droplets clinging to his lashes and eyebrows, his damp hair sticking out of his hoodie, clinging to his forehead and growing curlier by the second. The snowflakes melt and glisten on his chapped, red lips, zeroing her focus to a pinpoint on his lush, kissable mouth.

When she realizes her lips have parted with quickened breaths, her body flushing from something entirely different than adrenaline, she tears her eyes away and turns her head, trying to close herself off to him. But he tightens his grasp around her upper arms to get her attention.

“Katniss.” His voice is solemn and urgent, and she glances at him nervously. He looks distressed. “Tell me what’s going on in your head. Please.”

Chewing on her bottom lip, she slicks a hand over her snow-damp hair and tugs at her ponytail to tighten it. He releases her and shoves his gloved hands into his hoodie pockets, but he doesn’t step back from her. Her natural instinct is to brush him off with a blasé “Nothing” or “I’m fine,” but he deserves more than that.

“I don’t know, I just…I don’t know how to act now,” she admits, unable to maintain eye contact with him. But the look in his eye as he processes her confession, his brow dipping like he’s hurt, slices through her coat of self-preservation.

“I hope you don’t feel like you have to act a certain way around me at all,” he replies, breaths heavy in this lung-constricting cold. As if it’s that simple. She rubs her chapped lips together, wishing she had some kind of lip balm. The cold is seeping into her clothes, chilling her sweat-cooled skin, and she wraps her arms around herself.

“It’s not that. I don’t know.” She looks away again. She really doesn’t know how to have this conversation with Peeta. “I mean, what happens now? We had sex, but we’ve gotta work together every day. Share the same room every night. It’s weird, right?” She makes a strangled noise, a glottal-sounding laugh.

Peeta’s quiet, but in his silence he gently grabs her arms again and rubs his palms up and down, trying to infuse her with warmth. Finally, he says, “That wasn’t just sex for me, Katniss.”

She blinks up at him, her eyes going round. “What do you mean?”

This time, he doesn’t meet her eyes, keeping his gaze aimed somewhere below her chin as he continues to rub her arms. “I mean—I wouldn’t jeopardize our band or...friendship just to have sex with you.”

She tries to search his face, still not understanding. Her heart beats faster now. “Wh-what?”

He blows out a hot breath, reluctantly pulling his hands back to tunnel one through his curls, pushing the hoodie off. He fixes it back in place to shield his ears. “Maybe we shouldn’t have this conversation out here like this,” he says evasively. She tightens her arms around herself, already missing his heat.

“No, I th-think we sh-should,” she stammers, her teeth chattering now, but she’s not sure it’s solely due to the cold. He looks at her, eyes flashing with concern, and he immediately pulls her against him, wrapping his arms around her.

“You’re freezing,” he murmurs. And while she immediately relaxes into him and his warmth, her hands loosening around herself so she can clutch at his sweatshirt, she can’t let his words go.

“Explain what you m-mean,” she demands, jaw clenched to stop her teeth from clattering together. He sighs above her head, and she angles her face so she’s tucked into the crook of his neck, trying to burrow the cold tip of her nose into the collar of his hoodie.

“I was thinking we could be...more. More than friends or band mates,” he says, his voice quiet. Her fingers fist in his hoodie.

“Oh,” she finally pushes the sound out of her windpipe. Her whole body is trembling, and he squeezes her tighter.

“We don’t have to talk about this right now,” he tries again, and she can hear the edge of desperation tightening his voice. She presses her face against his chest harder, wondering if he’s also shaking or if it’s just her imagination.

“I didn’t know,” she whispers.

“That I like you?”

His response surprises her, and she rears her head back to look up at him, eyes narrowed. “You like me?”

He lifts his eyebrows. “It hasn’t been obvious?”

Her breaths are quick and shallow, her heart seeming to take up all the space in her throat. Her eyes slide away as she thinks back over the past six months. She remembers the snatches of his arguments with Glimmer she overheard from time to time. Isn’t that what his ex-girlfriend more or less accused him of?

Maybe it _was_ obvious. To everyone else but her.

“I’m kind of dense,” she says, laughing in bewilderment. Even before he told her last night, she’d kind of guessed he was attracted to her, but... _liked_ her? When they’d started the tour off at each other’s throats? “At one point you s-said you didn’t like me.”

She wonders if his cheeks are red from the chill or something more now. He pulls back to rub at his cold nose. “I don’t really know how to handle it when someone doesn’t like me,” he admits with a weak laugh. “I’m a people-pleaser. Sometimes it was fun going back and forth with you. Exciting, I guess. But most of the time, it just really sucked. Fighting with you all this time sucked.”

She ducks her head to press her face against his chest again, chagrined by her past behavior. What an asshole she’d been—they _both_ had been. After a moment, she nods into his neck. “It did suck.”

She feels his chest deflate, like he just let out a relieved breath. “Well, at least we got some good songs out of it,” he muses, his mouth pressed to the top of her head. She smiles into his hoodie, but they fall silent, like they’re enjoying the quiet moment, wrapped in each other’s arms.

Until Katniss can’t ignore the cold anymore. “God, it’s fucking freezing,” she says with a strained laugh, lifting her head up, putting some distance between them. “This was a colossally stupid idea.”

Peeta grins at her, glancing back the way they came. “Back to the hotel then?” She nods.

“P-please,” she says, starting to jog in place to get her blood pumping as they turn back. “Just try not to fall on me again.”

He laughs then he flashes her a heart-stopping smile. “If I do, we'll go down together this time.”

* * *

Katniss had been worried about how the sex was going to affect their performances: What if by finally relieving the sexual tension, they lost all chemistry on stage?

Only one song in at their next show, she realizes there'd been no need to worry. If anything, the sex only compounds the chemistry between her and Peeta while they sing. Every time she looks at him, all she can picture is his head between her thighs, the way he held her down as he fucked her, the heady look in his eyes as he moved inside her. The air practically crackles between them, something the audience seems to intuit as well, if their piercing whistles and cheers are any indication. By the time Katniss walks off stage, Peeta right behind her, she’s embarrassingly wet.

And there’s no immediate relief in sight since they have to power through The Peackeepers’ set and then the requisite afterparty. But judging by the heated looks Peeta repeatedly cuts her way, she knows she’s not the only one feeling this way.

When they make it to the club afterward, Katniss only spends a few minutes sitting at the VIP table to chat with the others before she and Annie make their way to the dance floor. She’s too antsy and restless to sit still. The two of them spin and gyrate among the other pulsating bodies. It’s not long before she feels a touch on her arm, and she looks over her shoulder.

Peeta offers her a smile, and when he leans closer, her heart rate ratchets up. “Do you need another drink? I was going to the bar,” he yells into her ear. She twists to face him and shakes her head, lifting her mouth to his ear.

“Stay and dance,” she tells him because she’d much prefer his presence to alcohol right this moment. He’s much more addicting. She grabs at his waist to pull him closer, tipping her head back to look up into his face. He glances around them only briefly before looking down at her, his smile spreading, then his arms come around her, hands low on her back.

They’ve never danced together before, not one-on-one, not like this. It should be a little awkward, but she’s not surprised to find it’s not. It feels perfectly normal, the way their bodies move together, like they’re well acquainted, well learned. And, well, after last night and this morning, they probably are. The way his body fits against hers, his hips smoothly following the lead of her own, it feels natural, innate. Inevitable.

Soon, her heart is pumping as hard as the bass of the music they’re dancing to. Their hands are insatiable, sliding and gripping curves of soft flesh and planes of hard muscle. He doesn’t grope her ass though, his fingers gentle yet desperate on her hips, the small of her back, hovering at the waistband of her pants. For some reason, his reservation makes her want him more; she can’t help grinding her hips against the bulge growing between his legs. She feels his harsh breath hot on her neck, and she bites down on her bottom lip, pressing her forehead against his jaw, trying her damnedest not to mount him in public. His hands slip under the hem of her shirt to touch her heated skin, and he only gives a restrained thrust against the give between her thighs before he directs the movement into a more polite dance gyration. But she can feel the tension in his arms, his fingers, the jaw against her neck.

They don’t kiss, lips only barely grazing necks and throats and cheeks. Sweat makes their skin sticky, and Katniss loses track of the time; she doesn’t know how many songs pass while they dance, doesn’t know if Annie is still around or if others have joined them. She pulls her head back to look up at him, and he gazes down at her. His pupils are blown wide, his face flushed. His hand slithers up her back, winding into the hair at the back of her skull. His fingers give a gentle tug, and she trembles.

“Katniss…” It’s a miracle she can hear his murmur at all in this place. Then again, maybe she just feels it, in every goose bump on her skin, every twitch of her muscles, in the very marrow of her bones.

She stands up on her toes to reach his ear. “Let’s go back to the room.”

Neither of them hesitate or wait to confirm with each other; they move as one, Peeta leading her through the crowd, her hand clasped tightly in his. She realizes they’re heading back to the VIP table, and instinctively they both release hands before they reach the others. It’s only Finnick and Annie and a few stagehands. The married couple are cuddling, faces close together as they whisper and kiss.

Peeta leans over the table to tap his fist against it as he snatches up his and Katniss’ coats from the booth. “Hey, we’re gonna head out.” He says it casually, but Katniss can see the question in their faces, so when he and Finnick hug and pound each other’s backs in parting, Katniss pushes her damp hair out of her face and gives Annie a loose smile as she hugs her.

“I’m tired,” she says by way of explanation, infusing her voice with as much regret and sheepishness she can. Annie kisses her cheek and nods in understanding.

“See you tomorrow!” she chirps with a wide smile. Katniss can’t tell if that grin is a little _too_ understanding, but she brushes it off and quickly hugs Finnick, desperately wanting to get out of the club. And back to the hotel.

In the Uber, they sit in the backseat, a respectable distance between them. But their hands meet in the middle, fingers twining and stroking knuckles. Every mile feels like a hundred. Katniss tries to ease her racing heart, but her body throbs every time his thumb rubs the heart of her palm. Her coat begins to feel like a strait jacket, her rising temperature making her break out into a sweat.

He stays close as they walk through the hotel, practically herding her into the elevator. Thankfully nobody else gets on with them, and as if by some unspoken understanding, they come together once the doors are closed. She opens her mouth for his readily, their relieved moans commingling in the enclosed space the second their tongues touch. He crowds her against the side wall, railing digging into her back, but she just clings to him, fisting the frustratingly thick shoulders of his winter coat, already lost in the way his tongue strokes hers with a toe-curling neediness. There’s too many layers between their bodies.

They reach their floor too soon and tear apart reluctantly when the doors open, Katniss wiping at her lips. With no one in the hallway, Peeta guides her to their room, his hand on the small of her back. Once inside, they shed their coats. Katniss feels a little shy as she folds her coat and sets it down on a chair, watching Peeta shrug out of his. He gives her a smile when she pulls off her boots and takes his phone out of his pocket, glancing distractedly at it. He hesitates, something flickering over his face as he looks at the screen, a small frown marring his expression.

Katniss only gets a quick glimpse, but it looks like a text. Glimmer? The suspicion is immediate and intrusive. Her stomach twists unpleasantly as she wonders if it is indeed his ex, if he’s still talking to her.

But Peeta’s expression clears almost as soon as it appears, and he drops his phone on the night stand. It could have been anyone, whatever he saw on his phone. It’s not her place to ask, to interrogate him like a nosy girlfriend.

 _Girlfriend_. She nearly laughs out loud. Her mind is running away from her with outlandish ideas now.

“I’m going to use the bathroom,” she says when he looks up at her, suddenly feeling like she needs a moment to gather her thoughts.

He nods as she ducks into the bathroom. She takes her time peeing and washing her hands, brushing her teeth, scrubbing her face. Then she wonders if she should have left her makeup on—what little she hadn’t sweated off by now. But he’s seen her at her worse and most unattractive, rolling out of bed hungover without a shred of eyeliner or foundation, eyes puffy and red from an embarrassing crying jag.

Raking her fingers through her hair, she reenters the room to find him perched on the edge of his bed, shirtless, his pants unbuttoned and half-unzipped. Any reservations she was feeling vanish. Just that peek of dark blond hair disappearing into the waistline of his boxer-briefs sends her pulse galloping. He smiles as she moves toward him, stopping between his legs. His hands settle on her hips to pull her closer, and he presses a kiss through her shirt, right between her breasts.

She threads her fingers through his soft curls, scraping the tips across his slightly sweat-damp scalp. Then she tips his chin up and lowers her mouth to kiss him. This one is slow and sensual, and when he pulls back, just barely, she meets his eyes, dark and lidded. His hands push her shirt up to skim over the bare skin of her waist, and she holds onto his shoulders as he undoes her jeans to push them down her legs. She steps out of them when he peels them off her feet.

She decides to take over, her pulse fluttering nervously with anticipation. She pushes him down onto his back and climbs onto his lap, but he looks at her in surprise when she slides off of him and perches on her knees beside him. She can see the bulge of his erection through the unzipped fly of his pants, and she rubs him through his boxer-briefs before slipping her hand underneath the waistband to grasp his thickening shaft and pull it out.

Peeta groans as she pumps him, lifting up on his elbows to watch. She glances at his flushed cheeks and the taut muscles in his neck, before she eagerly inches his pants and underwear down to free him. Then, before she can lose her nerve, she fists her hair over her shoulder in one hand and bends over him to suck the head of his cock between her lips.

“Shit—you… _god_ ,” he sighs as he collapses back onto the bed. She watches his face from the corner of her eye and hesitantly swirls her tongue around the tip. His skin is salty, and when her tongue swipes through the slit, the flavor of his precum bursts across her taste buds. It encourages her, and, releasing her hair, she grabs the base of his cock and opens her mouth wider, taking him in farther.

He reaches for her, running his fingers through her hair to cup the back of her head. “Fuck, that feels good,” he whispers, eyes shut, teeth worrying at his bottom lip. “Just...a little harder.”

Tightening her fist, she sucks his cock into her mouth. He grunts, hips jerking slightly. His tip pushes against the roof of her mouth, and she pulls back, sliding her grip up his spit-slick shaft as she retreats. She flicks her tongue over the head, along the ridge, obsessively studying his face as it twists in pleasure. Reassured, she slides her mouth back down on him, lips stretched wide. She can’t take him too far or deep, but she tries to make up for it with a tight, stroking hand on the bottom half of his cock, tugging on his flesh when she pulls her lips and tongue up to the head.

His fingers dig into her scalp, but he doesn’t push on her head, thank god, only thrusts up minimally when he’s particularly excited about the suction of her mouth on him or something her tongue does. “Fuck, Katniss,” he groans, breaths harsh. Her own breathing is rough and labored, sounding louder in her ears as she pants through her nose, sucking him harder, faster, getting a little over-eager as she observes his reactions. His shaft and her fingers are coated in her saliva, and the noises her lips and mouth make on his cock are obscenely loud, but Peeta only grows harder under her tongue, which makes her wetter too. She didn’t know she would enjoy this so much.

“God, that’s so good,” he grunts, voice choked, abdomen flexing. She splays her free hand over the muscles, feeling them quiver under her touch. Suddenly, his fingers tighten in her hair, and he gasps. “Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

He seems to swell in her mouth, and when she tastes more of his precum on her tongue, she pulls back quickly to release him, unsure what to do. His hand clamps down around hers on his cock, and after a few strokes up and down the wet length, he comes with a gasp. Hypnotized, she watches as his cum spurts across his belly. His cock pulses hot in her hand, and she strokes him a couple more times to milk his orgasm until he’s completely done. He lies there, both their hands still wrapped around him, chest heaving with quick, heavy breaths.

After a moment, she grows self-conscious. “Sorry,” she says lamely, eyeing the splatter of semen on his stomach.

“What?” he pants, a slight huff of disbelief, and he cracks his eyes open. “That was incredible. Don’t apologize.”

Her lips pull into a grimace, and she unweaves her hand from around his cock. He lets her go. “I didn’t…” she trails off and gestures to his cum, laughing awkwardly. “I got a little nervous. I’ve never…”

His eyes flutter all the way open as he looks at her, waiting for the end of the sentence. Then they widen with understanding, and he pushes up onto his elbows. “Oh—you’ve never—that was the first time you’ve ever...ever?” he stammers, and she tucks her hair behind her ear primly then nods.

She’s never really cared about putting a dick in her mouth before, especially not with any of the men she’s casually dated or had sex with. But Peeta was so generous and enthusiastic going down on her...it made her want to return the favor.

Plus, he just has a really gorgeous cock. It seemed like a shame not to suck it.

He looks a little thunderstruck by her admission, and her face grows hot. “Well, you're the only guy who’s made me come by going down on me, so…” She shrugs like it's not a big deal. He sits up and abruptly pulls her in for a bruising kiss. His tongue strokes hers with an eagerness that makes her tremble. He lays her across the bed, tucking her underneath him.

He continues to kiss her, lips sliding against hers wetly with a thrilling sort of desperation, while his hand slips into the side of her panties to push them down her thighs to her knees. She wriggles out of them the rest of the way as his hand roughly palms up the back of her thigh to her ass.

“Any guy who sleeps with you should be willing to eat you out for hours until you come,” he murmurs against her mouth, giving her ass a little slap that surprises a gasp out of her. She anchors her hands in his hair as he starts to move down her body.

“Well—I mean, _hours_ seems a little unrealistic,” she says with a strained laugh, dazed. He lifts his head to look at the nightstand clock.

“It’s 12:23 a.m. now. Let’s see how many times I can make you come before you pass out,” he challenges, and before she can laugh in his face again, he buries his face in her cunt to do just that. The sound in her throat dissolves into a moan.

His tongue is relentless, plunging inside her, tracing her folds, flicking her clit until she’s crying and arching into him. Considering she’s been on the edge all night, it takes only a matter of seconds for him to coax her first orgasm out of her. Probably only a handful of minutes for her second one. Her third orgasm is a little trickier, her pussy feeling raw and swollen from his mouth, but he wrings it out of her with patient, gentle strokes of his tongue and fingers. She’s a wet, trembling mess by her fourth, and in the end she has to tap out before he does.

* * *

“Hey, Duck,” Katniss says as she answers her phone. The sound that greets her is not human, however, and she pulls the phone away from her ear with a wince, double checking the screen for her sister’s name. She tries again, more cautiously. “Prim?”

The screech, she realizes after a second listen, is her sister screaming in excitement. Prim finally cuts herself off to inhale sharply before launching into actual verbal speech. “ _Omigod_ , Katniss! Your song is on the radio right now!”

Katniss makes a face to herself and flops back on her hotel bed, dangling her feet off the edge. “Um, okay,” she laughs, not sure what prompted the level of excitement from Prim. Their song has been on the radio for months now; she’s heard it a few times on the alt rock stations while driving city to city. “That’s cool.”

“No, you don’t _understand_!” Prim shrieks. “It’s on KIIS-FM, which is, like, _the_ radio station around here! They play all the hits! Your song was on the countdown they do everyday!”

Katniss’ eyes go large as understanding dawns on her, and she shoots up in bed. “Wait. Are you shitting me?”

“No! I’m dead serious! ‘Jungle’ was number 4 for the day, which means it’s probably been on the countdown for a little while now!” Prim shrieks again, but Katniss is too flabbergasted to care about the decibel level ringing in her ear.

“Holy shit.” Have they officially crossed over? It’s one thing to have their songs played on local college stations where anything goes, but a Top 40 station? “Number 4? Are you sure?”

The room door opens, and Katniss looks up to see Peeta, hair and shirt soaked with sweat from his workout, just as Prim screams in her ear again.

“Yes! Katniss, you’re gonna be so freakin'  _famous_!”

As if he can hear Prim’s screeching on the other end, or perhaps read how dumbstruck Katniss looks, Peeta stops and narrows his eyes. “What?” he mouths. Prim is still jabbering on the other end, so Katniss moves the mouthpiece away to answer him.

“Prim heard our song on some countdown on KIIS-FM. A Top 40 station.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Are you shitting me?”

A smile splits across her face, because he couldn’t have known those were her exact words. She shakes her head. “Apparently, we’re number 4 today.”

“Fuck, that’s incredible!” His hands tunnel through his hair, his face slack with awe. Her face hurts from her own grin.

“Isn’t it?” Katniss hears a “What?” in her ear and realizes Prim is done having a conniption. “I was telling Peeta what you told me. He just walked in the room.”

He grabs her ankle suddenly and pulls her to the edge. Her eyes widen at him as he pulls her into his arms, crushes her to his chest and lifts her off the ground in a back-breaking hug. “What are you doing!” she laughs, squirming in his hold. His damp skin and wet clothes stick to her skin, and she makes a sound of disgust. “Oh my god, put me down!”

He laughs too, squeezing her one more time before he deposits her on the bed. “Ugh, go take a shower,” she tells him, wrinkling her nose. “You smell like gross male.” She kicks at him playfully, but he grabs her foot, refusing to let go when she tries to shake him loose. Her protest pitches into a hysterical screech of laughter when he tickles her arch, and she nearly drops the phone, but mercifully he releases her before she can aim a kick at his nose.

“Asshole,” she pants with a not-so-serious glare. He just laughs again and backs away into the bathroom, slamming the door shut.

“Katniss?”

She realizes her sister has been trying to get her attention. “Sorry, Duck! What were you saying?”

There’s a pregnant pause on the line before Prim speaks again. “Uh, I don’t think so. What the hell was that?”

Katniss goes still. “What do you mean?”

“ _That_ —with Peeta! You were laughing and giggling and—did he pick you up? Why did he need a shower? What have you been doing?” Prim gasps. “What have you been holding out on me, Katniss?!”

Katniss flushes head to toe. “Nothing!” she replies, almost reflexively, then cringes at the blatant lie. She hasn’t told anyone yet about the shift in her and Peeta’s relationship. Their bonding over Christmas felt private. Special. She didn’t feel right sharing it with anyone, not even Prim. And no one really asked her about Peeta anymore, not about how they were getting along, probably since they had grown tired of her bitching about him all the time these past seven months. But while she doesn’t mind holding things close to her chest, she doesn’t like outright lying to her sister.

Katniss sighs and sits up. “Um. Okay, that’s not exactly true. We’re friends now. I mean...he’s actually really cool, and...I guess we understand each other better now. And…” she hesitates, tracing her finger along a thread in the comforter, then blurts out the rest, “Well. We had sex.” She grimaces at the blunt confession, bracing herself for Prim’s outburst.

She doesn’t disappoint. “ _What_?! You had _sex_ with—” She seems to catch herself and lowers her voice, as if she’s not entirely alone. Katniss silently blesses her for her discretion. “Okay, I think I just had a stroke. What the hell have I missed? What happened to his _girlfriend_?”

Katniss closes her eyes. “They broke up. Before Christmas. _Way_ before we hooked up, just so you know. Don’t act so scandalized.” She shrugs even though her sister can’t see her and checks the bathroom to make sure Peeta can’t overhear. She can hear the shower running. “I don’t know. Things just changed around the holidays. And, well...we’ve had sex. Um. Quite a few times.”

She’s not sure why she’s blushing, but it’s probably because she’s not used to divulging intimate details like this to her younger sister. She waits for her sister’s rant or objections.

“Oh my god,” Prim crows. “I knew it!”

“What?”

“I knew you two would hook up eventually.”

“I’m sorry—why were you even thinking about this?” Katniss asks incredulously.

“Come on. It’s such a classic. Two people who can’t stand each other forced to work together, day in and day out. All that sexual tension. It was bound to happen,” Prim laughs. Katniss rolls her eyes. Although, she supposes her sister’s right. “Like you weren’t attracted to him from the start. Plus, I always knew he wasn’t a terrible guy. He’s just your type, too—when you’re not being too stubborn to acknowledge that.”

“Shut up,” Katniss says sourly. She doesn’t even know if she _has_ a type.

“Okay, so, what does this mean? Are you two, like, _together_?”

Katniss’ eyes dart around the room, and she shifts uncomfortably. “I don’t know, Prim. It’s a complicated situation.” She cups her hand around the phone to muffle her next words. “He said he _likes_ me.”

“Oh my god, that’s so cute!”

Katniss sighs, but she can’t help it; her lips spread in a smile, and she presses her hand to her mouth to hide it. “You’re not helping.”

“A hot, awesome guy likes you, and you think you need my help?”

She rubs her forehead. “You’re being difficult. You know why it’s complicated. We work together. Already we’re supposed to act like we’re secretly boning behind the scenes while not actually boning and making sure the press knows we’re not boning but still _think_ we’re boning—shit, I don’t even understand it myself.”

Prim laughs. “So, now you just secretly bone behind the scenes while telling the press, no, of course you’re not boning, _wink-wink_. Doesn’t sound much different to me.”

Katniss groans. “My head hurts.” She hears the water shut off and the curtain slide open in the bathroom, and alarm flashes through her. “Okay, I gotta go. I’ll tell you more later, I swear. And thank you for letting me know about the song!”

“You better freakin’ tell me more later, Katniss, or I swear to god—”

“I will, okay, love you, bye!” she sings into the phone before disconnecting with a relieved sigh. A moment later, Peeta emerges, freshly showered and wearing just a towel. She can’t help the immediate flush of desire through her body, though she gives him an exasperated look.

“Really?”

He shrugs indifferently, his hand holding the towel around his waist. “You’re the one who rushed me into the bathroom without a change of clothes.”

She scoots to the foot of the bed. He must read the lustful look in her eyes because he arches an eyebrow at her and moves closer. “So...guess we’re on Top 40 radio now,” she says as she casually drapes her legs on either side of him and looks up at him through her dark fringe of lashes.

He smiles, a slow one. “Yeah. That’s pretty amazing.” A beat. “Maybe we should celebrate.”

She presses her lips together to strangle a smile of her own. Reaching out to his waist, she pries his hand away, letting the towel fall to the floor.

* * *

Yawning behind her hand, Katniss stretches her legs out as far as she can in the passenger seat and makes a squeak as her tight muscles unfurl. Peeta huffs in amusement from behind the steering wheel, and she throws him a look. “What?”

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, but he smiles. “That was cute.”

She flushes with a mix of pleasure and embarrassment. She glances into the backseat where Haymitch is passed out and snuffling quietly in his sleep, then she shifts in her seat until she can curl her legs underneath her. “I’m not cute. I’m the lead singer of a rock band.”

“You’re kind of cute.”

God. She doesn’t know how to handle flirty Peeta. “Shut up,” she laughs, pressing her hands to her cheeks and averting her gaze out the window. It’s dark out, well after midnight, and they’re on their way to Toronto from Montreal for the last leg of the tour that takes them through Canada. “I need some caffeine or something. I’m tired, but I feel restless.” She should take a nap, but she can’t get her eyes to close. She’s gotten more comfortable driving in the snow—rather, she’s more comfortable letting Haymitch or Peeta drive her in the snow, enough that she can relax, at least. But she still won’t let herself fall asleep when there’s snow on the road, especially at night.

“There’s a gas station up ahead,” he says, signaling as he starts to exit. They park once they find the open gas station, and he kills the engine, turning to wake up Haymitch when Katniss is already halfway out of the car. “You want anything from the gas station?” he asks their manager.

Haymitch shakes his head and folds his arms over his chest, burrowing down into his jacket to fall back asleep. Katniss runs across the parking lot, the cold, nipping air already making her teeth chatter. She holds the door open for Peeta, and he shudders dramatically when they step into the warmth of the gas station. There’s an older gentleman at the register who nods in greeting, but the place is otherwise empty.

They take their time perusing the food aisles, overwhelmed with the differences between American and Canadian gas station food choices. “I feel unprepared,” Katniss says, examining something that looks like a Ho Ho, or a whoopie pie. She’s not sure. “I almost forgot we’re in a different country.”

“It’s a different world,” he says with mock seriousness. He grabs something she recognizes, a Kit Kat bar. “Even their Kit Kats taste different.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “You’re kidding.” She takes the candy to examine the package and wrinkles her nose. “Orange? Weird.” Then she looks up at him curiously. “You’ve been to Canada before?” This is her first time out of the country; she only got her passport right before the tour started.

He nods, looking at the chips display. “Washington state’s right there on the border.”

“Oh yeah.” She rolls her eyes at herself. “You’re practically Canadian.”

He laughs. “Totally. Can’t you hear it when I talk?”

Her eyes widen at the sudden realization. “Oh my god, you _do_ have an accent.”

He looks confused, his forehead dropping in a frown. “I was joking. I sound completely normal.”

“No, you totally do. I just realized it.” She laughs, and he huffs with faux indignation.

“You might not wanna joke too loudly about accents here,” he says, looking at the lone guy over his shoulder, then he raises his eyebrows at her pointedly. “Canadians aren’t as nice as you think.”

She grins at him. “I’m so scared,” she whispers, but she takes her whoopie pie concoction and a grabs a cold coffee drink from the fridge. She waits at the front as Peeta peruses another aisle, and when he eventually walks up to her, she realizes what he was looking for. Condoms.

“I didn’t know how many more we have left,” he explains with a casual shrug. She tries not to blush and nods.

“Good idea,” she says as nonchalantly as possible. They pay for their snacks, and condoms, Katniss not quite able to meet the sales attendant’s gaze and rushes out once Peeta’s done. “Thanks, have a good night!”

Outside, she lets herself laugh to get past the awkwardness of the moment and waves her bag of food at him. “Did you hear the way you said bag? _Baaag_ ,” she tries to imitate his weird vowel pronunciation, exaggerating it a little too much, and he makes a horrified face.

“That sounds nothing like me,” he insists. “What about you? ‘ _Thanks, have a good night y'all,_ ’” he mimics her faint Appalachian accent but makes her sound like some horrid backwoods extra from the movie “Deliverance.” She huffs.

“I do _not_ sound—well, I definitely didn’t say _y’all_ ,” she scowls, pushing his shoulder. He grabs her wrist with a laugh and pulls her against him. Her outrage immediately drains, and she looks up at him, her breathing and heart rate picking up at his proximity. He smiles down at her, and she forgets about the cold when he presses his lips to hers, coaxing her tongue out with his. It’s a soft kiss, unhurried, sweet, and she clings to the front of his coat, her cold brittle fingers seeking warmth under his collar. The tip of his nose is cold when it brushes her nose and cheek, but his lips and tongue are hot, and she tries to leech as much of his heat through her mouth as she can.

He withdraws after a moment, their breaths steaming between them, and his lips curl at the corners slightly. They stare at each other for a moment until he clears his throat. “Come on, let’s get back on the road.”

Yes. Good idea. The sooner they can get to their hotel, the better.

They run back to the van and jump inside, quietly shutting their doors so as not to disturb Haymitch. They shiver for a moment in their seats, clutching their bags, and share a covert grin over the console.

Then Haymitch clears his throat from the back, startling them. Katniss whips her head around to look at him. He cocks an eyebrow.

“Looks like we should have a little talk.” She frowns in confusion, and he sighs. “I figured it was only a matter of time before you two started bumpin’ uglies—though kudos on waiting till the end of the tour, I admire your restraint—but we gotta lay down some ground rules.”

Her eyebrows shoot up, blood rushing to her cheeks, and she glances at Peeta. He looks equally embarrassed, scrubbing a hand through his curls.

“What—ground rules—how is it any of your business—” she stutters, mortified and agitated.

He barks out a snort of laughter. “It is _literally_ my business, sweetheart. And Plutarch’s.” He tugs his coat tighter around his neck, looking every bit a grouchy old man at the moment. “Obviously, we can’t control who you sleep with, but we can control who you _publicly_ date. So while I get how romantic gas stations can be, try to refrain from sucking each other’s face so out in the open next time, lest it get back to the media somehow.”

She didn’t think she could be any more embarrassed. She was wrong.

“I thought Plutarch would be ecstatic with media coverage,” Peeta mutters, starting the van. Haymitch sighs.

“Of the manufactured romance variety, sure. Real life relationships are a little more messy and a lot harder to control. So. Just be discreet. Keep it behind closed doors. It’s for your own benefit, too. You two are starting to get more notice. The press will eat you alive with any whiff of romance. Fans are already talking about how much cozier you two have been at bars lately.”

She and Peeta share another look before she turns away, sinking into her seat. He pulls out of the parking lot and gets back on the road in silence. Soon Haymitch’s snores fill the van, and Peeta turns on the radio when it becomes obvious Katniss doesn’t want to talk anymore.

She’s back to second-guessing herself and their actions, the wisdom of pursuing some kind of relationship between the two of them. What if it doesn’t last? What if they implode, exactly as Plutarch cautioned from the beginning? Working with Peeta while hating him on some superficial level had been bad enough; she can’t imagine having to work with him were he to break her heart.

Her blood runs cold at the thought. Because he could. He could totally break her heart. No guy's ever broken her heart before because she's never let them get that close. Until now. Until Peeta. Can she do this?

Can she risk her career, this one shot at musical success, for something that’s not even a guarantee?

They reach Toronto a few hours later. Too consumed by her thoughts, Katniss never does drink her coffee drink, so when they arrive, she’s exhausted. Peeta, too. She doesn’t think she’s wrong assuming he is equally preoccupied with thoughts that mirror her own. Haymitch, the bastard, is bright-eyed and bushy-tailed after his nap in the van. Luckily, he doesn’t lecture them anymore or mention the gas station awkwardness again.

The inner turmoil has her retreating into herself, wanting to pull away from Peeta and just pass out in her own bed so she doesn’t have to think anymore. When they finally get inside their room, she says without looking at him, “I’m gonna go to bed.”

Peeta gives her a scrutinizing look. “Okay. Your bed?”

She tugs at her braid. “Yeah. Alone.”

He exhales tiredly, rubbing his eye. “Yeah, okay.” She thinks he’s probably too tired to argue with her. But it makes her realize that for the past week or so they’ve slept together every single night when they haven’t been on the road. That’s too much too soon, right? She needs a little space, as much as she can get in their shared 12-foot-by-18-foot room.

They crawl into their separate beds, Katniss’ body screaming in relief when she stretches out on the mattress under the covers. But despite the heaviness in her eyes, she can’t keep them closed. Can’t keep her mind from racing. About Peeta, about Haymitch’s words, about their band, about their budding relationship—or whatever the hell they can even call what they’re doing. She looks over at Peeta periodically despite herself. By the third time her gaze strays to his prone form, she realizes, with some surprise, he’s actually asleep.

That surprise quickly morphs into annoyance. With a huff, she tosses and turns, flopping onto her stomach, trying to get comfortable. Nothing helps. It’s like she can’t sleep well anymore unless she’s in his arms. He’s ruined her. Damn him.

And damn her. Why is she so stubborn?

She watches him sleep for a moment longer before she finally makes up her mind. Resolving not to overthink it anymore, she throws off her covers and climbs out of her bed and into his. She nudges his side, and his eyes eventually flutter open and blink at her.

“Move over,” she whispers, sliding under the sheets beside him.

Disoriented, Peeta inches over obediently so she can lie down on her back beside him. Once she’s done wriggling, he wraps his arm around her to tuck her against his chest. He presses his forehead against her temple. Immediately, she feels warm and relaxed in his embrace, his soft breaths on her neck lulling her under.

“This okay?” he asks groggily, and she nods contentedly.

“Thanks.”

He squeezes her shoulder, and after a couple minutes he’s asleep again. This time, she follows soon after him.

* * *

Katniss can hardly believe they’re approaching the end of the tour; there are only a handful of shows left. Seven months felt impossibly long in the beginning, but now she’s not sure she wants it to be over. Partly because, in a way, they’ve been in a bubble, somewhat isolated from the challenges of being in a fairly well known band, but once the tour is finished, she and Peeta will have to jump right into promoting their first full-length album and all the trappings that come with that contractual obligation. It’s daunting.

But mostly, it’s because she’ll miss her tour mates, the friendships she’s built with these like-minded musicians.

She’ll be glad to leave behind the freezing, miserable weather of winter in Canada, though. The cold and snow are too much for her. They’re in Winnipeg now (a wretched 20-hour drive from Toronto). Blessedly, they’re here for a couple days before having to drive on to the next town.

After their show tonight, they all go to a club to hang out. With the weather, Katniss isn’t sure why they bother trekking around town; it’s annoying having to strip out of layers of clothes just to have a drink.

She dances to warm up, anyway, with the usual suspects like Annie and Finnick, but also with Peeta. Despite Haymitch’s warning, it’s hard to ignore the magnetic pull to him, especially after another stellar performance and after she gets a couple of drinks in her. Peeta doesn’t seem particularly concerned about staying away from her either, but when his lips skim her throat, his erection insistent between her thighs, she becomes cognizant of their surroundings and the dozens of observers watching them. You can never be too sure someone won’t sneak a photo on their camera and hop on Facebook with the latest gossip.

Reluctantly, though she wants nothing more than to take him to a dark corner, she puts some distance between them and gives him an apologetic smile. He seems to get it and nods, his smile echoing her weariness.

“I’m gonna go get some water and take a break,” he tells her. As soon as he’s gone, she misses him and debates following him.

But Annie pulls her back into the dancing crowd. Soon they’re grinding on Finnick, Katniss behind him, throwing her head back to laugh at his exaggerated antics. Darius joins them at some point, appearing at her side, and she turns to dance with him. Maybe it’s not a bad idea to detract from fans’ suspicions about her and Peeta with rumors about Darius; it worked before, she thinks wryly. She tells herself that if she dances with all the guys, it can’t be _that_ weird when she dances with Peeta.

She attempts to keep a polite distance between her and Darius, but he gradually drifts closer to her, hands on her hips or waist. His grin is friendly, his touch fairly harmless, so she goes with it.

They dance together for a couple songs until her mind wanders; she inevitably wonders where Peeta is and if he’s planning to return to the dance floor. Figuring she’s done enough to extinguish suspicions, she yells to Darius that she’s going to get a drink. He just nods and squeezes her hip before letting her go.

Gratefully, she grabs a beer from the bar and heads for the VIP table where she spies Peeta talking to Thresh and some other people. She smiles when she slides into the booth beside him. He returns her smile and keeps talking. At one point his hand grazes her thigh under the table. She’s not sure if it’s intentional or not, but even that minor contact has her body thrumming for him. She idly checks the time on her phone, eager to get back to the hotel.

Eventually, the others retire from the dance floor, and Katniss and Peeta scoot over to allow them room at the table. Darius sits down on her left side, close enough his hip abuts hers.

They all laugh and talk for a while, knocking back their drinks. Someone’s hand brushes Katniss’ left thigh. It must be Darius this time. She ignores it, but when they’re all finally ready to leave the club, she’s grateful. They pay their tabs and, as they climb out of the VIP booth, Darius offers his hand so she can stand up.

“Thanks,” she says with a small smile, throwing a glance over her shoulder at Peeta. He’s grabbing their coats and her purse from the corner of the booth.

“No problem,” Darius says, squeezing her hand. Then he leans in closer. “A few people are coming back to our suite after this, if you wanna join me.”

Her eyes widen, a blush heating her face. She doesn’t think she’s misconstruing his invite, not with that knowing gleam in his blue eyes.

“Oh, um.” She grimaces. How awkward, especially with Peeta behind her. Her palms grow slick. “Thanks, but...I’m just going to head back to our room. My room,” she corrects, realizing how that sounds. Understanding dawns in Darius’ eyes, and he glances over her shoulder suddenly. Katniss turns to find Peeta standing there. He glances between them curiously, his lips thin.

Darius smiles and shrugs, hands up in supplication. “That’s cool. See you guys later.”

As he saunters off with the other Peacekeepers, Peeta extends Katniss’ coat and purse to her. She flashes him a brief smile as she takes them. “Thank you,” she mutters.

He nods, despite the perturbed look in his eyes. They both slip their heavy winter coats on and head outside to make the short, brisk walk to the hotel before their extremities can freeze.

“So, what did Darius want?” he asks after an awkward silence. His tone is casually indifferent, however. She makes a face, pulling her hood over her head to shield against the cold.

“Um.” She laughs, tucking her hands under her armpits and casting Peeta a sideways glance. He keeps his gaze on the ground ahead of them as they walk. She can’t tell if he’s interrogating her or just being curious, and she’s not sure whether she should be annoyed. She decides to just be honest. “He asked me back to his room to hang out. I told him no thanks.”

He nods; if he’s relieved at her answer, he doesn’t show it. She’s wondering if she should have divulged anything to him after all when he suddenly shoots her a wry half-grin. “I’m guessing I wasn’t also included in this invite.”

She laughs quietly, burrowing into the collar of her coat. Her breaths are hot, heating her chilled lips and nose. “Doubt it.” She inches closer to Peeta’s side, craving his body heat. They fall into silence again, but Katniss hears his phone vibrate a moment later. And then again in quick succession. He pulls it out to look at; she can’t stop herself from peeking around the edge of her hood.

This time there’s no mistaking the name Glimmer on his screen. So, she _has_ been texting him.

Katniss’ body goes rigid, and Peeta hastily shoves his phone back into his pocket. She tips her head slightly to look up at him, unable to hold back her question this time. “Glimmer?” she asks, probably more bite to her tone than she intends. He glances at her, a grimace contorting his face.

“Ah, yeah.” He doesn’t elaborate though, and they fall into another awkward silence, Katniss chewing on her lip. Her agitation mounts when they enter the hotel. The heat is a welcome relief, but she keeps her arms crossed tightly over her chest as they board the elevator, her hood still up. Alone, she and Peeta cross to separate sides as he jabs at the button for their floor.

Finally, he says, “Go ahead and ask. I know you want to.”

“Why is she texting you?” she asks sharply, both frustrated and curious. Afraid, too, though she can’t quite articulate why.

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. She just likes to talk,” he says uncertainly. She can’t help but roll her eyes then returns to glaring at the closed doors.

“Do you two text a lot?”

“No. I mean, I don’t. She hits me up, and I’ll reply sometimes to be polite, but I try to keep it to a minimum. I’m not trying to lead her on or give her any ideas.”

She almost snorts out loud, all too familiar with how accomplished he is at _that_. He could probably lead a plant on and not realize it.

They reach their floor, and Katniss gets off first, stalking down the hallway ahead of him. At their door she fumbles through her purse for her key card, but he gets his out first and opens the door. Shoving her hood back, she looks up at him. “She wants to get back together, doesn’t she?” she accuses, aware how jealous she sounds.

Peeta looks away, mouth pulling to the side. He shifts uncomfortably. “I guess. I mean, yes, that’s basically what she’s asked me. I told her I don’t feel the same, but she won’t listen.”

Katniss walks into the room but spins around when the door shuts behind him. “Does she know about me? That you and I—?” She gestures between them. His eyes widen.

“Am I supposed to brag to my ex-girlfriend that we’re sleeping together?” he asks incredulously and gives a humorless laugh. “God, I’m not that cruel.”

She makes an exasperated sound, struggling out of her jacket and purse. “Not like that. Does she know how you feel about me?” She feels conceited even asking, but judging by the way Peeta averts his eyes, she’s right to ask.

“I didn’t know we were telling people,” he says evasively, unzipping his jacket with a pronounced jerk. “Did you tell Darius?”

She narrows her eyes. “No, but I told Prim.”

That surprises him. He looks up at her. “You did?” She nods, and he sighs wearily, taking his jacket off. “I just...I don’t want to keep hurting her. After everything.”

“Probably continuing to talk to her isn’t helping in the long run,” she points out, the edge in her voice razor-sharp.

He fists his hands in his hair. “I know. You’re right. I’ve just never had to do this before.”

She quirks an eyebrow at him disbelievingly. “What, break a girl’s heart?”

He winces. His hands drop to his sides, and he exhales, furrowing his brow. “Yes. My past breakups have been either mutual or we were nothing serious to begin with so there were no hard feelings.”

“You just cut them off, cold turkey,” she tells him, slashing her hand through the air. His eyebrows peak. “That’s what I do.”

“Cold-blooded,” he says dryly, but not maliciously, crossing his arms over his chest as he studies her. “So you just break a guy’s heart and kick him to the curb?”

She rolls her eyes and laughs uncomfortably. “Well, no. I’m pretty sure I’ve never broken anyone’s heart before. I’ve never dated anyone seriously, other than Gale, I guess—”

“Wait a minute— _Gale_?” Peeta says, his eyes going wide. She clamps her mouth shut before continuing.

“Well, yeah. We went out when I was like 16 for a little bit until we realized we were more like siblings, or cousins—”

“Madge’s Gale?” he repeats, and she can’t help but scowl at that.

“Technically, I knew him first. They met through me. But yes, I mean your cousin Madge’s fiance _Gale_.”

“Christ,” he says, plopping down on the edge of the bed. She sits down on the bed opposite him. “How come no one told me about this?”

She shrugs. “It feels like it happened in another lifetime now, honestly. And it was mostly borne of convenience. We spent so much time together anyway.” Sometimes she forgets it even happened, until Madge makes a crack about it. But enough time has passed that neither she nor Gale feels uncomfortable referencing their past dating history anymore.

Peeta shakes his head thoughtfully, rubbing his jaw. Then he sighs and drops his hand onto his thigh. “Well, I’m a coward, I guess. It seemed impudent to break up with Glimmer and tell her at the same time, ‘Oh, by the way, you were right: I’m totally hot for someone else.’ Maybe she deserved to know. I don’t know.”

She stares at him for a while until she can finally force herself to give voice to what she's afraid of. "Do you miss her?"

His eyes cut to hers sharply. "No," he says slowly, like he wants to make sure she understands. "I miss our friendship, but nothing more."

"You're not just...trying to get over her?"

His eyebrows lift, and he waves a hand between them. "Do you think this is just a rebound or something?" She shrugs, dropping her gaze, and he licks his lips. "I don't think you can call it that when I started feeling this way about you long before I broke up with Glimmer. As awful as that makes me."

Her heart feels like it can start beating again, like she was awaiting his answer before she could take another breath. Katniss tips her head back to cast her eyes upward and exhales roughly. “Well, if you're awful, then I'm awful. Who am I to judge?" She falls backward on the bed. "I was too stubborn and afraid to even admit to myself that I liked you all this time.”

After a pause, she feels the bed dip with extra weight, and suddenly Peeta appears in her line of sight, leaning over her. He looks amused. “That's interesting. All this time, you say?”

She colors but rolls her eyes, fixing him with a haughty look. “Not _all_ this time,” she clarifies. Even so, a buoyant sense of giddiness starts to fill her, making her feel light. “There was a good chunk of time in the middle there where I definitely hated you.”

“You sure about that?” he asks, lowering himself to his elbows so he’s hovering above her. Her temperature spikes at his nearness.

“You don’t remember? You were there for all of it.”

“You don’t think it’s possible you still liked me, even just a little bit, underneath all that antagonism?” he asks, his voice a notch lower. Her blood starts to run hot, rushing in her ears. She narrows her eyes at him, and he brushes her hair off her forehead, settling his weight half on top of her. “Because I know I did.”

“Maybe,” she whispers, her heart in her throat making it hard to catch her breath. He smiles faintly at that. He rests one arm over her rib cage and the other on the mattress above her head. Her eyes dip to half-mast when he leans closer, his scent hijacking her senses.

“I can accept maybe,” he murmurs, his nose skimming her cheek. Then his lips graze the same spot, and her eyes shut entirely. He kisses her temple, her eyelids, the corner of her mouth, her jaw. She arches into him when he mouths gently at her neck, tugging at his shirt to pull his full weight on top of her. He nips at her earlobe, sucking it between his lips, and she gasps sharply when his tongue dips into her ear, laughing reflexively. His lips stretch against her ear in a smile, and he kisses back down her neck to nudge the collar of her sweater aside and lave the soft juncture of her shoulder with his tongue.

She shifts underneath him restlessly, bringing her knee up to hitch over his hip. He settles between her legs, bringing the solid length of his cock against her center. She inhales deeply, savoring the pressure of him right where she needs him. Her hand runs over his back and shoulder, up the side of his neck to palm his jaw and force his mouth up to hers. Their lips meet in an unhurried kiss, just a light, teasing pressure, until he opens her lips wider with his own to thrust his tongue inside.

Her fingers slide around the back of his neck, threading through the soft curls there. His tongue strokes hers leisurely, his hand sliding up and down the curve of her waist underneath her sweater. Her heart feels like it’s knocking against her ribs. But frustratingly, Peeta pulls away. She blinks up at him, chasing after his mouth, and he presses a kiss to the indent above her lip.

“Are you okay with this?” he asks, searching her eyes. She stares at him in confusion, but her hands slip under his shirt, seeking the heat of his flesh against her palms. “What Haymitch said. Being discreet. Keeping this, us, a secret.”

She licks her lips, tasting him there, on her tongue. His back muscles are hard and deliciously firm to the touch, but she makes herself focus on his question. Finally, she nods. “I think so,” she whispers, rubbing her hands up his back, lifting the shirt higher. “I’m okay keeping something real just for us.”

His eyes are intensely blue as he looks down at her, then he smiles, just barely, and nods before kissing her again. “Me too,” he says into her mouth, before he lets her pull his shirt off over his head and shoulders. Her hands have a mind of their own, drifting and groping across the expanse of hard muscles in his chest and back. Needing his skin on hers, she presses her breasts against him, but the barrier of her sweater frustrates her. She begins to tug at her sleeves until he takes over, easily peeling her sweater off.

He settles down against her to kiss her again, and she clutches him closer, moaning around his tongue with relief at the feeling of his hot skin touching the bare tops of her breasts. His hand fumbles between their bodies to unfasten her pants, but he doesn’t dive between her thighs; instead, he wraps his arm underneath her hips, wedging his hand into the back of her pants and beneath her panties, to palm her ass cheek, to pull her closer against the hard press of his body.

Gradually, arousal thickens in her blood, making her toes curl, just from the gentle strokes of his tongue on her tongue, over the roof of her mouth. It’s a slow, luxurious kiss that both excites and frustrates her. Part of her just wants to revel in the exploration of his mouth on hers, but another part, namely the throbbing-ache-between-her-legs part, just wants immediate relief and pleasure. She knows he must be in a similar predicament, if the hardness of his cock against her pelvis is any indication.

The pressure of his mouth on hers grows, the swipes of his tongue becoming hungrier, more frenzied. Eventually, she reaches down to his pants, unbuttoning them and pushing them down his hips, snaking her hand into his underwear to grip his cock. He grunts around her tongue and releases her mouth with a sharp inhale. As she pumps him, he drops his face to the crook of her neck, painting his tongue over her collarbone, between her cleavage. He unclasps her bra and drags the straps down her arms, kissing each newly revealed swatch of bare skin and her pebbled nipples as he pulls the satiny material off her breasts. Then he stands up so he can take off both their pants and underwear. When he searches for a condom, she scoots up the bed so her legs aren’t hanging off, her hair draped over the other side, and she waits for him eagerly, watching him roll the latex onto his shaft.

He returns to his place between her legs, hiking her thighs up around his waist as he settles his hips against hers. She grabs his cock in hand and guides the tip between her folds, angling her pelvis so he can push in with a couple measured thrusts. His moan echoes hers, and after a brief moment, he begins moving inside her. Slow, deep strokes. She closes her eyes and lets her head fall back, issuing soft pants through her parted lips.

Peeta brushes kisses across her throat, her lips, her forehead, his breaths hot and heavy between them. She grabs his ass in both hands and pulls him closer, drawing her knees to her chest. They go slow, like they’ve got all the time in the world; occasionally, he grinds his cock into her on an upthrust, rubbing the base against her swollen clit, and she mewls plaintively, blood pumping harder through her veins.

When she grows restless and needy, he maneuvers his fingers between her folds, rubbing firm circles on her clit. She grabs at his taut biceps and swivels her hips, desperate for the friction, heady from the fullness of his cock stretching her walls, moving inside her.

“God, don’t stop,” she gasps, bucking against him. He thrusts into her more forcefully, pinning her to the bed with the pressure of his fingers, rubbing her clit quicker, manipulating her orgasm with expert, learned knowledge. She strains against him, her cries and moans growing louder until she breaks, pleasure flooding through her.

“You feel so good,” he groans against her neck, still stroking her clit until she’s spasming and clenching around his cock. Once her climax has leveled out, he braces his arms on the bed and speeds up the pace of his strokes inside her, chasing his own release. Katniss presses her mouth to the crook of his neck, tonguing and biting at his throat and shoulder, pulsing her walls around his cock until he comes too, thrusting a few times before going still.

They hold onto each other and just lie there for a while, too content to let go.

* * *

It's the last day of the tour, and they’re in Vancouver to play their last show with The Peacekeepers. It’s bound to be epic, with an even more epic after-party to follow.

But for now, with hours to spare before soundcheck, she and Peeta decide to explore the city. It’s a place he’s somewhat familiar with, since it’s not far from Seattle. They walk around sightseeing downtown, the bay, even strolling through a museum for a little bit before they find something to eat at a restaurant he recommends. She’s so used to spending time with him at this point that it's not until halfway through the meal that it hits her how much this all feels like a date.

Maybe it _is_ a date. Katniss stares at him across the table. He catches her eye as he lifts his beer to sip and smiles widely. She wants to reach out for his hand but knows she can’t, not in public. Someone else might realize they’re on a date, too. Still, she returns his smile, a secret understanding passing between them.

After lunch, they continue walking around downtown, no real destination in mind. They walk side by side, arms almost touching. It’s as close as they can get without tucking against each other’s sides. She supposes it’s close enough, especially for someone such as herself who's never been an overly affectionate person, but the distance still seems palpable. 

She’s okay keeping their relationship a secret, away from the prying, judging eyes of the media and fans. It might be the only semblance of privacy she gets in the foreseeable future.

And yet…she can't quite shake how unsettled she feels.

They pass a tattoo parlor, the bright neon lights and colors illuminating the display windows catching her eye. She slows to a stop, and a second later, when he realizes she's not at his side, Peeta turns back to look at her.

“What?" He sidles up to her, a teasing smile spreading across his face. "Thinking of getting a tattoo? Or maybe a rad piercing to really cement your rock star status?"

She rolls her eyes, but an idea takes shape in her head. She looks up at him with a slow smile. “Actually, yes. And you, too.”

“Say what now?” He still looks amused, but wary now.

She grins. “I think we should get tattoos. To commemorate this tour.”

“Uh,” he laughs, running a hand over his hair to ruffle it. “I don’t know if I'm a tattoo kind of person. I wouldn't want to mar my delicate porcelain skin.”

She snorts with laughter, shoving her hands into her pockets. Her mind is racing with the possibilities, though. “I just really want something for me, something that means something to me. Something that when I look at it, I’ll always remember this moment in our lives.” She lifts her gaze to his again, hardly able to believe what she’s about to suggest. She hesitates because even in her head it sounds ridiculous, but she makes herself say it. “We should get matching tattoos.”

His eyes widen, sparkling with incredulity. “What? Are you serious?”

"For the band," she hurriedly clarifies and laughs nervously. He continues to gawk at her, and she turns back to the shop window to hide her blush, her heart starting to beat wildly. It’s insane, and reckless, but… “I mean, who knows how long all of this will last, right? Our album could flop, District Thirteen could drop us.” She shrugs, suddenly embarrassed she even suggested the matching tattoo idea. “You don’t have to. I’ll get something alone.”

Stunned, Peeta looks away as he thinks, then he shakes his head in bewilderment. But he smiles. “Okay. Let’s get tattoos.”

She can't hide her surprise when she glances at him, but her smile is tinged with barely concealed excitement. "You want to?"

“Something small," he amends with a laugh. He looks like he can't quite believe he agreed, either. "We’ve gotta be at the venue in less than an hour so it's gotta be quick.”

She nods, already formulating an idea in her head as she grabs his arm to tug him inside the parlor. "I think I know exactly what we should get."

Thirty minutes later, Katniss stands in front of a mirror, admiring her fresh tattoo. The artist, Pollux, is the strong but silent type. He was probably disappointed with just how simple the design was, but he didn't complain. It took him all of a minute, probably, to etch the tattoo into her skin, but he's probably just happy for the walk-ins, since the shop is otherwise dead.

Pollux finishes up with Peeta then, wiping the excess ink and blood off before slathering some ointment over the skin and taping down a patch of plastic wrap. Katniss glances back at Peeta as he joins her at the mirror. She laughs at the look he gives her, one of lingering pain. "It wasn't that bad," she admonishes.

"Speak for yourself. He said the ribs are one of the most painful spots to get a tattoo," Peeta gripes, lifting up his shirt to examine the tattoo in the mirror. It's a small, thin, black V on his left ribs just beneath his pec. Like the small, thin, black V on her right hip. For The Victors. It’s rather inconsequential and easily hidden by clothes, though even exposed the markings are hardly noticeable. But that's what Katniss wanted. Something only they know about. Something that connects them.

Peeta drops his shirt and turns to her, gesturing for her to lift hers. She has to tug her pants down an inch as well, and she bites her lip when his thumb caresses the edge of her clear bandage, right next to the V. When he glances up at her, she meets his heated gaze head on. He smiles lightly. "So badass now," he jokes, making her suppress a grin. "You know we’ve probably just guaranteed our band’s demise in a few years."

“Maybe. We'd be so lucky to get big enough to implode,” she returns the joke with a laugh, then she shrugs. “Even so, I won’t regret it.”

He stares at her intently, their expressions turning serious. Finally he nods, his eyes going soft. “Me neither,” he murmurs. And in the middle of that nearly empty tattoo parlor, he leans down and kisses her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk to me on tumblr @muttpeeta!


	14. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I am so sorry for the long wait for this epilogue! It's not even that long, but I had to finish a fic for PromptsinPanem first, and then I participated in NaNoWriMo, so unfortunately writing this epilogue took a backseat. 
> 
> Thank you so, so much for reading and reviewing, every comment has truly made my day on each chapter. I'm so glad you enjoyed this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it, and I hope the epilogue provides a satisfying conclusion. It's a bittersweet end to what will be my last multi-chapter Everlark fic. Thank you again for the unending support in my fic-writing endeavors through the years.

Blood thunders in her ears, muting the sound of her own voice. She’s not sure she’s even making a sound until she finally hears herself gasp, her body deflating, spine decompressing, heartbeat receding to a slower, steadier _thump thump_ in her rib cage. She blinks her eyes open languidly and directs a smile at her audience of one.

Which must look pretty dopey because Peeta laughs. Her smile warps into a scowl, though she can’t muster any real annoyance with him.

“Hey.” She flicks him in the forehead, and he winces, still grinning. “You know, most people would be offended if you laughed with your face in their crotches.”

He shrugs her legs off his shoulders so he can flop down beside her, rubbing the spot she flicked. “Good thing I don’t go around putting my face in many people’s crotches then,” he says, a small smile still teasing the corners of his mouth.

Katniss turns onto her side to face him, resting her head on his pillow alongside his. At this proximity, she can smell herself on his mouth, and she makes a face, wiping her hand across his wet lips. With a sound of protest, he snatches her hand away and abruptly presses his mouth to hers in a close-lipped kiss, deliberately rubbing his chin back and forth. She shrieks indignantly, laughing even as she tries to squirm away from him, but he pins her to the pillow.

“Stop!” she protests, but then he’s kissing her open-mouthed, his tongue dipping between her lips to brush against hers. The fight immediately goes out of her, and she kisses him back eagerly, wrapping one arm around him to pull herself closer.

After a moment, Peeta eases back to look at her. He smiles. “It’s nice waking up with you again.”

She snuggles back down into the pillow. “Yeah. I’ve actually missed the hotel rooms.”

His laugh is low and throaty, his eyebrow raise dubious. “Really? Because I remember you wanting to kill me a lot in those hotel rooms.”

“Only in the beginning. And some of the middle. The end of the first tour wasn’t so bad. The second one was even better,” she reminds him, her voice lilting and suggestive. He pulls her to him, resting his hand on her bare hip.

“Must have been all that wild sex,” he agrees solemnly, and she snorts. She’s still buzzing with the after-effects of her orgasm, and it would be easy to slip back to sleep, though she knows there’s no time for a nap. Or for lazing around in bed and having sex, really, but somehow they found the time this morning.

It’s been a few months since they last shared a hotel room, and nearly a year since the end of their first tour with The Peacekeepers. In the beginning, District Thirteen was tight-fisted when it came to springing for accommodations for The Victors, forcing her and Peeta to share a confined space for months on end where they were always on the verge of strangling each other. But ironically enough, now that they’d sooner fuck than fight, suddenly Plutarch’s got the money to spring for separate hotel rooms for his two stars. Apparently, as he stressed to them in a closed-door meeting after he'd first found out about their relationship, it's more important than ever to ensure the media and the fans don't find out The Victors are actually sleeping together.

Still, it doesn’t stop them from sneaking over to the other’s room whenever they’re at a hotel together. Back home, it’s easier to sneak around their little town without being spotted by anybody who cares, but Katniss knows, once they’re both relocated to Los Angeles by District Thirteen, it’ll be even harder to indulge their secret relationship. The thought makes her stomach cramp with dread, but she pushes it out of her mind for now.

After all, she has Peeta Mellark naked, in her bed. Why waste the opportunity?

She gets a glimpse of his surprise when she grasps his semi-hard dick before she moves in to kiss him again, but they both freeze when they hear a jarring sound. Katniss can’t quite place it—not until she hears the click of the room door opening a second later. Then Haymitch’s voice follows.

“Rise and shine, boy—oh, Christ.” He jerks to a stop when he rounds the corner, immediately turning to face the wall.

Katniss is already scrambling to pull the sheets up to cover her breasts. Luckily, it’s not as much of a feat to conceal herself, but Peeta’s not that lucky, as he’s lying on top of the sheets, bare-assed to the world. He grabs the first thing he can get his hand on—the pillow under Katniss’ head. She gasps when he jerks it out from under her to quickly cover his junk, and she yanks the sheets over her head, all the while screaming at their manager.

“Get the fuck out!” she screeches, her voice muffled by the blanket.

“Fuck, Haymitch, can’t you fucking knock?!” Peeta yells at the same time.

Haymitch scoffs. “Can’t you fucking refrain from sticking it in your girlfriend for one day?” he retorts, still facing the wall. At least, he sounds like he is. Katniss can’t see him and refuses to peek outside the blanket, no matter how hot and stifling it is. Suffocating right now seems preferable to looking Haymitch in the eye ever again. She’s pretty certain he saw her tits. There is no undoing this god awful moment in time.

“Either tell us what you want or get the fuck out,” Peeta says through gritted teeth. Haymitch sighs.

“I want you to wash off whatever bodily fluids you’re currently covered in and get dressed. The makeup artists and stylists will be here soon. And as charming as this crotch pillow look is, I doubt that’s the outfit you really want to make your Grammys debut in.”

Peeta growls, and Katniss groans, burying her face in the mattress, clutching the blanket tighter around her. When she hears the door click shut a few seconds later, she asks, “Is he gone?”

“Yeah.” The word is heaved on a sigh.

She pokes her head out slowly, just to be sure, and once she’s certain Haymitch is nowhere in sight, she throws the sheets off, her face still hot with humiliation. “You know what I will never miss? Haymitch’s nosy, smug ass,” she says vehemently.

Peeta throws the pillow behind him. “Me neither. But he is still occasionally right unfortunately—namely, I don’t want to still be in this state of undress when others arrive.” He stands up from the bed and holds out his hand. Taking it, she lets him pull her out of bed and the safety of the covers.

Not wanting to be walked in on again, she finds her shirt she’d shed when she’d sneaked over to Peeta’s room last night, quickly pulling it down over her head and arms. Peeta slips into his boxer-briefs and heads into the bathroom. She follows him, watching as he turns on the shower.

“Are you going first?” she asks, and he throws her a smile over his shoulder.

“If I were less gentlemanly, yes,” he says as he steps closer, smoothing her hair back from her face. He pauses before his smile widens devilishly. “And I am, so I figured we’d take a shower together.”

She laughs, accepting his kiss, and when the water is hot enough, they strip again and step into the tub. They take their time, a not-so-subconscious middle finger to Haymitch, soaping each other up and washing the other’s hair. Katniss faces Peeta, her back to the spray of water, as he scrubs shampoo into her scalp. Her eyelids droop with dozy contentment, though the sensation of his fingers in her hair stokes a simmering heat between her thighs. He’s hard, too, but neither of them act on it, still mostly sated from that morning’s sex.

Her eyes flutter open when she feels his lips on her neck, then she smirks to herself. Maybe not so sated after all.

But she remembers Haymitch’s warning about the makeup artists and stylists arriving soon. Then she remembers what they’re coming for: to pretty them up for the Grammys tonight.

She swallows suddenly, the fire in her belly transfiguring into a buzz of jitters.

“I can’t believe we’re performing on the Grammys tonight,” she says, speaking low but loud enough to be heard over the running water. The light kisses on her collarbone stop, and Peeta lifts his head to look her in the eye.

“I can’t believe we’re nominated,” he adds, tipping her head back to rinse out the suds in her hair.

Katniss closes her eyes so no water will splatter into them and takes a tremulous breath before exhaling it forcefully, trying to expel the nerves as well. That’s the other concern. The Victors are not only performing on the Grammys for the first time, but they’re also nominated for Best New Artist for their self-titled debut studio album.

They’d finally wrapped it up after the tour last year and released it late spring. It became an instant success, both commercially and critically, to both her and Peeta’s utter astonishment. Life has been a whirlwind ever since, with months of promo and interviews and a shorter, smaller venue tour where they were the actual headliners, with their own opening act.

It’s been surreal, and she can barely comprehend the past year. It’s been wonderful, if not exhausting and sometimes—many times—frustrating.

“We’re not going to win,” she says like she’s trying to convince herself. She’s certain they won’t, but she says it to keep herself from freaking out. And to keep her expectations low.

“Hmm.” Katniss hears his thoughtful noise and opens her eyes to squint at him.

“What? You think we will?”

He shrugs, his eyebrows lifted. “No idea. I try not to think about that part, honestly. I’m more worried about the performance.” Done with her hair, he gently moves her to the side so he can duck his own head under the water.

“You can’t say that,” she admonishes, gaping at him as he hastily scrubs his palms over his wet curls to rinse out the shampoo she didn’t finish washing off. “You can’t be nervous. If you’re nervous, who’s going to help me keep my shit together on live TV?”

He laughs, tipping his head back so the spray hits his face. Water fills his mouth, and he swishes it around before spitting it out, rubbing his face to fling the water out of his eyes. Then he stands her back under the spray, wrapping his arms around her back to hold her close.

“You forget, I’m also always nervous when we perform. And yet I still manage to help you keep your shit together regardless.” She rolls her eyes, even though he’s right. “It won’t be much different from that time we did Caesar Flickerman’s show for the first time.”

She rests her head on his shoulder. “Except this is actually live, and we’re in a room full of peers and critics.”

Peeta pauses. “Well, when you put it that way.” She groans, and he laughs again. They stand there for a moment, reveling in the nearness of the other, the skin to skin contact. Her breasts are pillowed against his chest, and his abs contract against her belly with his even breaths. Below, she can feel the length of his cock on her thigh, not quite hard but still not flaccid. She grows antsy, the prospect of everything happening later today too much to think about.

Sliding her hands down his back to grip his ass, she kisses his pectoral muscles up to his collarbone. The effect is instantaneous, his cock twitching against her thigh. With a smile, she lifts her head and grabs the back of his neck to pull his face down to hers. They kiss hotly, lips and tongues wet. When she wraps a hand around his cock to stroke him, he groans into her mouth, cupping her ass to pull her tightly against him. Heat flares between her thighs again with a molten urgency.

“Fuck me,” she whispers into the kiss. He’s already roughly turning her around before the words are completely out of her mouth, angling the showerhead so the water isn’t hitting him in the face. She splays her hands on the tiled wall to brace herself, bending over and spreading her legs open when he reaches between her legs to check if she’s wet enough. His fingers pump inside her a couple times, then he thrusts inside her. She gasps, hands slipping on the tile, but she plants her feet wider to withstand his thrusts.

Peeta holds onto her hips, pulling her back to meet his cock each time. The sound of their wet skin slapping together echoes loudly in the shower. “Hope you realize this is going to be quick,” he grunts. “Three minutes, tops, probably.”

Her laugh is short and breathy. “Isn’t it always,” she says jokingly, eyes squeezing shut as she revels in the way his cock tunnels through her tight walls. She arches her back more, angling her pelvis, and moans as the motion triggers a growing pleasure.

“To my memory, there was at least once where you had to ask me to stop because you couldn’t handle my incredible stamina,” he reminds her, his breaths hitching as he leans over her to hammer her faster, one hand coming up to rest above hers on the wall. He has to squat some to thrust into her, his powerful thighs flexing against the backs of hers, pushing her up onto her toes. The change in the position sends a warning ripple of tightening intensity inside her as his cock mercilessly rubs at her g-spot. She shudders.

“Ha,” she gasps. “That’s—that’s because my legs were cramping. You had them push-pushed to my shoulders for so long, I had to, to do yoga the next day to work out...work out my…” She can’t think straight, coherent speech lost in the spiral of pleasure spreading through her as her orgasm builds. She moans and grits her teeth before forcing out another gasp, “Stiffness!” Then, “Fuck, don’t stop!”

His laugh is strained, and he slides his hand down over hers, lacing his fingers through hers. “Funny. I got a little stiffness of my own to work out right now.” Her groan at his lame joke dovetails into a cry of abandon as he fucks her harder, working them to a quick finish. They both devolve into animalistic grunts and groans, beyond words and pithy banter, until she comes, rather suddenly. It’s not a swift orgasm, but an intense sensation that rolls through her, blacking out everything but the relentless throbbing where his cock rubs inside her. She doesn’t make a sound, her throat closing shut until the first wave abates, then she’s gulping for air as she feels him coming too, her pussy clamping around his cock.

“Love you, god, I love you,” Peeta gasps into her neck, clutching her tightly to his chest.

She seems to come back to herself, one limb at a time. Her knees are weak, thighs shaking from strain and pleasure, but Peeta manages to stand them both up straight, and all she can do is slump back into him as he readjusts the shower head and uses the soap to clean between her thighs and then himself.

“Thanks,” she says, then she laughs, a heady giddiness coating her brain and pushing out all the worries and anxieties of before.

Until they hear a loud knock on the hotel door, startling them. Much like Haymitch did earlier, the newcomers barge right in.

“Helloooooo!”

They both groan. “Effie,” they say simultaneously. But she’s not alone; they can hear the excited voices of their team of stylists, Portia, Octavia and Venia, as well.

“At least we had another door between us this time,” Peeta muses as he turns off the shower. Regretfully, they disentangle from each other and get out of the tub, grabbing towels to dry off with.

But Katniss' legs still feel like jelly, so she plops down on the toilet to catch her breath. Wrapping his towel around his waist, Peeta gives her a knowing smile. “I’ll bring you the rest of your clothes.”

* * *

The afternoon passes in a whirlwind of primping and prodding. Katniss gets plucked and waxed within an inch of her life; meanwhile, Peeta’s allowed to shave his own face, the lucky bastard. Venia and Octavia spend more time on her, fixing her hair, painting her face and rubbing her body down in lotion before squeezing her into a deep forest green dress that magically lifts her small breasts practically up to her chin. Peeta puts on a well-cut black suit with a tie and pocket square that match her dress, then Effie mercifully declares victory on the makeover and ushers them and Haymitch downstairs into a limousine that chauffeurs them over to the Staples Center.

They make their way down the red carpet, stopping for the interviews Effie directs them to. While Katniss has gotten more comfortable with this aspect of their careers, it’s still overwhelming. She wishes she could hold onto Peeta’s hand, but she knows that would invite more suspicion. As it is, they’re already wielding an obnoxious amount of questions as to the status of their relationship, which they continue to coyly bat down with the practiced refrain of “We’re bandmates, but we're also good friends who share a deep respect and admiration for each other.”

At least, Peeta keeps a hand pressed to the small of her back as they make their way inside, a small gesture of comfort and encouragement. It helps steady her, in a way only he can. God knows she’s going to need it once they’re on stage in front of at least 20 million people. No pressure or anything.

Once inside the center, they’re able to relax and mingle. It’s not the first awards show they’ve been to and not the first award they’ve been nominated for either—unbelievably, they’ve even won a couple—but it’s certainly the most prestigious. Their seats aren’t incredibly close to the stage, which is oddly comforting for Katniss—less likely cameras will pan to her and catch her picking at her teeth or adjusting her perilous display of cleavage or something else equally embarrassing.

They see The Peacekeepers, who are of course seated near the stage, though they don’t have an album currently up for nomination. While Katniss and Peeta keep in touch with the band members, especially Finnick and Annie, they really haven’t seen them since the tour, outside of industry events, due to The Victors’ hectic schedule and The Peacekeepers’ time largely being spent in the studio as they work on their next record.

Katniss and Peeta hug their old tour mates and chat, Katniss fawning over Annie and her heavily pregnant belly. She and Finnick got pregnant soon after the tour ended last year. The two parents-to-be are positively beaming in anticipation of their son, and Katniss is happy for them. She kind of envies how open they can be in their relationship, but she understands just how different their situations are.

And Finnick and Annie have been together for more than a decade. She has no idea why she’s comparing their relationship in any way to what she and Peeta have. They’ve barely been together a year. It took months after they first slept together before she even felt comfortable thinking of Peeta as her boyfriend. She'd worried their relationship would get in the way of the music or ruin it somehow, but so far it's only enhanced their song-writing. And considering how volatile and nasty they'd been to each other when they'd first started touring together, she'd been dubious they could actually make a relationship work. But they'd both proved her worst fears wrong. They fight, of course, but not as often as she'd have thought, and it's usually over trivial things. While she's detrimentally stubborn, Peeta's much more forgiving and easygoing; fighting with him just isn't worthwhile when he doesn't antagonize her in return, not like he used to, and arguments are typically resolved within hours, often followed by a good makeup fuck. As often as she found herself angry with him on tour, it's impossible to stay mad at him now. In fact, she laughs more than anything when she's with him. More than she's ever laughed with anyone. 

She's sickeningly  _happy_ , actually, something Plutarch had lamented would certainly ruin their music, but so far he hasn't been proven right. And undermining Plutarch and management in whatever little way she can is just one of her few perverse joys in life.

Katniss and Peeta take their seats eventually, enjoying the performances and scripted banter of the host and presenters, applauding when nominees and winners are announced. About halfway through the show, however, they're taken backstage to get ready for their performance. She’s hurriedly whisked into a dressing room so she can be stripped and strapped into another dress, while all Peeta has to do is take off his jacket and change shirts. It’s chaos backstage, and once the two of them are fitted with mic packs and the broadcast goes to commercial, they’re rushed out and quickly posed in front of mics while stagehands run around ensuring everything is ready to go in the two minutes they have.

Luckily, everything happens so fast, Katniss barely has time to think about the fact that she’s about to perform on the freaking Grammys. Gripping her mic, she listens to the presenter introduce them and the requisite applause that follows. On their cue, Katniss casts one last glance at Peeta. He’s watching her, and though she can read the nervousness in his eyes even in the dark lighting, he gives her a curt nod and begins strumming the opening notes.

Deep breath. Katniss closes her eyes to steel herself, and when the bright lights suddenly hit her eyelids, she opens them and starts to sing.

 _“You're a red string tied to my finger_  
_A little love letter I carry with me_  
_You're sunlight_  
_Smoke rings and cigarettes_  
_Outlines and kisses from silver screens…”_

She looks to Peeta then, who picks up the chorus with her.

 _“Oh, dear, never saw you coming_  
_Oh, my, look what you have done_  
_You’re my favorite song_  
_Always on the tip of my tongue…”_

They pause briefly, just the chords of the guitar rending the silence. Then, before he starts singing, Peeta locks eyes with hers. She can’t stop the smile that teases the corners of her mouth, the look in that gaze obliterating any lingering nerves swelling in her stomach. As far as she’s concerned, just like every time they’re on stage, it’s just her and Peeta right now.

 _“You own me, with whispers like poetry_  
_Your mouth is a melody I memorize_  
_So sweet_  
_I hear it echo everywhere I go_ _  
Day and night…”_

This time, Katniss harmonizes with him on the chorus. The song is one they wrote together. It wasn’t their first single, but it’s undoubtedly their most popular one so far. They get asked constantly by reporters what their “inspiration” was behind the lyrics—usually with the _wink-wink_ insinuation that the song must be about each other.

And they aren’t wrong, but of course Katniss and Peeta never confirm their speculations, only respond demurely that they find inspiration for their music in their everyday lives and past relationships.

When they finish the song, the applause is loud and jarring. Katniss shakes herself out of her reverie, the spell that always seems to weave itself over her, shortening the space between her and Peeta any time they perform together, breaking. Peeta smiles at her, moving toward her. Risking a quick glance at the audience, she’s awed to see some on their feet. Her peers. It’s humbling.

Peeta’s warm hand wraps around hers, squeezing gently, and she throws him a dazed smile before they take a quick bow. Then the stage goes dark, and they’re rushed backstage once again. Stagehands and assistants descend upon them. Someone stops them and guides them to a marker where they’re told to stay. They look around, trying to make sense of the scene.

Thankfully, Haymitch appears.

“Look alive, kids. They’re announcing Best New Artist right now,” he informs them.

Stunned, Katniss swivels her head around, straining to hear or see what’s happening on stage. Sure enough, a woman’s voice carries over the sound system, running through the list of this year’s nominees. When she gets to their name, suddenly a camera is in their faces, a bright light paralyzing her. Blood rushes in her ears, and she can’t do anything but wait as the seconds pass excruciatingly, the silence deafening as the woman opens the envelope.

“And the winner is...The Victors!”

People around them roar, but it takes Katniss a split second longer to register what that means. They won. They actually won.

Haymitch tries to push them out onto stage, but Katniss looks blindly to Peeta. His expression mirrors hers, she’s sure. But suddenly his face splits into a grin, and the effect on her is instantaneous. With a wild, disbelieving laugh, she flings herself into his arms, pulling his face down for a quick but fierce kiss.

She lets him go, and he looks even more stunned than before, but then they’re definitely being shoved on stage to thunderous applause. On shaky legs, Katniss hikes the full skirt of her dress up so she can stalk her way to the mic. She recognizes the presenter now, Cressida from The Geminis, a good friend of theirs now. She's grinning almost maniacally at them, holding the award meant for them. For The Victors.

Katniss reaches her first, Peeta at her back to make sure she doesn’t trip in her heels. Cressida hugs her, handing the statue over with her effusive congratulations, then she hugs Peeta, who accepts his own statue from an extra presenter standing by politely.

The statue is heavier than she expected. Katniss stares down at it in her hands for a moment before she makes herself look up at the crowd. She’s so glad the lights make it difficult to see everyone’s faces, but it hits her then just how momentous this is, and she freezes up, clutching the statue to her chest.

Peeta touches her arm, and she glances at him. At his questioning look, she nods with a smile; thankfully, he steps up to the microphone to deliver the acceptance speech for them. He takes a deep breath and exhales it, glancing down at the award in his hand before dragging his gaze back up to the audience. He kind of laughs in disbelief.

“Wow. If you want to completely ruin anybody’s attempt at a rehearsed speech, present them with an award right after they finish performing. I can barely catch my breath right now.” He laughs quietly when the crowd does, glancing at Katniss again. She makes a face and laughs as well, her heart jackhammering in her throat; she’s amazed he can formulate complete sentences right now. Peeta pushes a hand through his hair then continues. “Ah, first, thank you so much for this honor. It’s a privilege to be in the same room with so many musicians we respect and idolize and to be nominated alongside such amazing talent. We want to thank District Thirteen for taking a chance on two people who had no idea what they were doing. Still don’t, really. Thank you to our manager and our team.”

Peeta looks back at her again and hesitates, licks his lips before he turns back to the mic. “On a personal note, I want to thank my bandmate, Katniss. None of this would have happened without her. She offered me the opportunity, the honor, really, to play guitar for her when she didn’t even know me. Didn’t like me much either, to be honest.” He cracks a smile, and the audience titters again. “But it was magic from the first moment we played together, and I think we both knew then we had something special here. ”

Katniss tightens her grip on the statue, afraid it’s going to slip right from her hands. Her throat pinches with restrained emotion, and she swallows it down a couple times, praying to god tears don’t leak from her eyes. When Peeta steps back from the mic and looks at her, she gives him a watery smile. Pushing aside her nerves, she takes a tremulous step up to the mic.

She’s aware she’s being urged to wrap it up quickly, and she would have gladly let Peeta say his piece on their behalf and hurried off stage. But after what he said…

“Um, thank you. So much. Especially to our fans and our friends and family who supported us unconditionally, even before we were on anyone’s radar.” A slight dig at Peeta’s parents, who’ve suddenly had a change of heart about his career now that he’s famous. From the corner of her eye, she sees him press his lips together to suppress a grin, and she turns to look at him. Her voice is shaky when she speaks to him, “Thank you, Peeta. You’ve made me a better musician and a better person. You and I—we’re a team, and there’s no one else I’d rather be accepting this award with.”

His eyes go all soft at that. She definitely needs to get off this stage now. With a tight-lipped smile and a nod at the audience, Katniss steps back. Cressida and the other presenter direct them off stage as the host of the show takes to the mic. Once they’re finally backstage, Katniss can breathe easier, but they’re quickly swamped by well wishers and random people she doesn’t know wanting to congratulate them.

Haymitch eventually maneuvers them away, farther backstage.

“Congrats, kids,” he says gruffly, but for some reason there’s exasperation in his voice. Katniss frowns.

“I figured you’d be more excited than that. Doesn’t this mean a pay bump for you?”

He just huffs out a harsh breath of laughter, shaking his head. Peeta grabs her hand, tugging her to a stop, so she looks back at him. He has a peculiar look on his face, too. What the hell is going on?

“Katniss.” He stops and starts. “I’m not sure if you realize, but...you kissed me.”

She blinks at him a few times, uncomprehending. “Yeah. I know…” She trails off when it suddenly dawns on her, and Peeta nods slowly. “The cameras. Everybody saw that. Oh, fuck.” Again, Peeta nods. Katniss drops her face into her hands, nearly taking her eye out with the statue. “Shit! I wasn’t thinking!”

“There’s a surprise,” Haymitch mutters, and she lifts her head to glare at him.

“What do we do?” Peeta asks. He rubs his hand up and down her back in a soothing gesture. Haymitch just shrugs, sighing.

“I don’t know if it really matters anymore. You can continue to deny your involvement with each other, or own it. Plutarch will be a little pissed, sure, but by this point you two are a readymade hit. This win just gave you a little more leverage. So, for once, I’ll leave it up to y’all to decide.”

Angling his head down to look at her, Peeta raises his eyebrows. “What do you want to do? I’m okay either way. We can still play it off. Friends kiss each other all the time, right?” he asks, laughing lightly.

She scoffs, staring off distantly. “I don’t. I think that would be pretty obvious to most of our fans by now.” Tugging her lip between her teeth, she thinks it over. She dreads the inquisition should they confirm their relationship, the relentless invasion of privacy, the unending questions and speculation. Then again, that happens anyway. There’s no escaping.

She looks up at Peeta again, trying to read his expression. She sees the same steadying support he’s always given her. And suddenly, she’s never been more sure. She smiles slowly at first until a wide grin takes over her face, then she laughs, shaking her head wonderingly at what she’s about to say.

“Let’s do it. Let’s tell the world how much I love Peeta Mellark.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song "Tip of My Tongue" by The Civil Wars.
> 
> Find me on tumblr as muttpeeta, we can always talk there!


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